


desperado

by genes1s



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Western, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:48:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25126519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genes1s/pseuds/genes1s
Summary: Erwin Smith is the most famous Bounty Hunter around. He’s earned enough for an early retirement, though when the news calls for the renowned criminal 'Levi Ackerman' to be caught, he can’t help but join the chase.
Relationships: Levi/Erwin Smith
Comments: 17
Kudos: 38





	1. run and pursuit

**Author's Note:**

> howdy

Eight am ; too early to begin the day. That’s what Levi would’ve said ten years ago. Now, he thinks it too late to try and sleep.

The area is safe. Levi _knows_ it. He’s checked the perimeter once twice three times and shut the blinds up tight. No one knows he’s here. There’s no one to know that he’s here. He still couldn’t get any rest despite the knowledge, idly fingering the knife under his pillow. The blade is uncomfortable to sleep on, but still a welcome reassurance of his safety. 

Levi had even found a bed for the night. It’s real risky breaking and entering - even in an abandoned neighbourhood - but it sure is nicer than bedding down in some dirty rubble. There’s even canned food in the pantry.

No, he hadn’t got any sleep, but he’ll sure make the most of the rest of his stay.

Levi hauls himself off the cot and trekks to the grimy bathroom. He eyes the mould crawling between the tiles and hedges that the owners are long gone. The mirror’s not in much better condition, but Levi can make out his reflection well enough, so he inspects his worn face. The half-moons under his eyes trace the weeks of nightmares and days of sleep loss. Isabel and Farlan aren’t coming back, but their memories won’t ever leave.

Some running water would do wonders for his mood right now. Alas, the pipes are bone dry. The grime and cracked blood that streak his face are becoming increasingly difficult to look at. Levi tears his gaze away and searches the squeaky cabinets. All the bottles look disease ridden. An unopened packet of razors sits at the back of shelf two, and if Levi could remember the feeling of delight, he’d be over the fucking moon.

He rips open the plastic and takes out one of the blades, reluctantly returning to the mirror above the sink. His left eye inspects his long hair and the right watches the razor between his fingers. Levi gives a good try at a neat trim (he hates the way the strands itch his neck) and ends up with a decent undercut. Farlan wouldn’t approve, but Levi doesn’t share the grace of his fingers. Levi’s hands are made for stabbing and slashing. Fighting and stealing.

Red drops spatter the sink. Levi hadn’t noticed he’d clenched the razor into his skin. He releases the blade and it clatters around the porcelain. Time to get moving.

Levi pulls on his smudgy boots and moth eaten jacket. He almost leaves his pistol behind, largely favouring the dagger which he tucks into his boot ; a knife is an extension of the body, allowing Levi complete control. A bullet’s path is more uncertain.

He heads to the door a half-here mess, scooping up his cowboy hat on the way. For a moment he’s confused by the emptiness at his shoulders (where’s his pack?) then quickly shakes off his stupor. Levi ditched his belongs at the shoot-out, and he’s not ever going back.

Three blocks down and the buildings are reduced to a single story. By block five Levi is ambling over foundations. He feels no remorse over this city laid to ruins. Farlan had pointed to the map, tracing their planned route to the next location. Dallas, he’d called it. Isobel had been excited. Well, Levi may have made it, but oh _shock_ , this place is as godforsaken as the rest of the damned continent.

Levi doesn’t remember the Before. The era of advanced and thriving. Kenny does. Kenny said the Before was plenty good for those who got lucky. But the After - that’s where they belong. People like them could plunder and pillage until their horses couldn’t move under all the gold. Levi’s never felt like one of Them. He was just dragged along for the ride.

But Kenny was right about one thing: Levi was born to be a lone ranger. He’d listened until he hadn’t ; friends were the greatest discovery of Levi’s retched life. Though Levi doesn’t regret the time he got with Farlan and Isabel, the cycle has come full circle. He’s alone again.

When the ground becomes desert, it’s not long before Levi reaches the road. It’s the one he’d hightailed in on. The truck still idles haphazardly on the tarmac. He should’ve ditched it somewhere out of sight, but he’d lost his conviction twenty kilometres North. It probably rests between his friends’ charred bones. Levi’s gotten lazy and insolent and he can’t bring himself to care. It’ll catch up to him eventually. For now he’ll sulk amongst the desert sands.

The map’s gone. It’s not like Levi could pinpoint his location anyway. He starts down the dusty road in hopes of reaching somewhere with a little life. Levi hopes that Somewhere is in walking distance. Though he passes nothing on his journey, Levi wouldn’t call the landscape empty. Rubble aplenty scatters for miles on either side of the old highway. Scraps of metal reflect the afternoon sun like glass shards.

Levi can’t remember a time when roads were busy. He walks for hours down the hot tarmac, taking for granted the absent traffic that would have hurtled towards him. Levi was born in the Before, though he was still crawling when the world collapsed, and so he grew from the ashes that shaped the new age. He can’t miss what he never had, and Levi’s never had time for hopeless dreaming.

On the shimmering horizon, black spikes rise from the ground. When he’s just a few hundred meters out, Levi spots the familiar stamp of hooves as they kick up dust clouds. Finally some civilisation. Reaching the town is a relief to Levi’s blistering heels. His clothes stick tight to his sweltering skin.

Levi enters the town through a pine gateway. The low fence surrounding the settlement is splintered and broken. He strides down the centre of the houses, eyes set on the building at the end of the road. These wooden shacks aren’t much in the way of permanent homes, but Levi thinks them lively enough. Idle chatter drifts through half-closed shutters, though there’s no one outside to observe his arrival. Levi’s not sure if outsiders are welcome here. He’ll just have to find out.

The steps up into the saloon creak under his feet. The door’s pulled to, and that also groans when Levi tugs it open. Everyone inside falls quiet at the sound. Levi walks up to the bar - wearing a faux nonchalance - as his spurs click with every step in the baited silence.

Levi sinks into the farthest barstool and gives into the wish of his twitching fingers, pulling his hat low over his eyes. It’s unlikely these small-timers will recognise him, especially with the dirty face and torn clothing. He tries to play the part of any tired traveller, relaxing into his seat and picking up the weekly newspaper off the bar. It must work ; the prying eyes shortly return to their liquor, cigars, and card games.

“You having anything?”

Levi was so focused on looking for signs of suspicion that he hadn’t noticed the barman step up. He keeps his eyes on the paper when he replies. “Jus’ some water.”

“Water? You ain’t gettin’ it for free if that’s what you’re after.”

Not so welcoming, then. “You ain’t got no tap?”

“We sure do. You can pay for it or you can get out. We don’t need no strangers comin’ in here and and takin’ up space.”

Levi makes a show of looking at every empty chair. “I think too many customers is the least of your worries.”

The weathered man scrunches his brows and scrutinisers Levi, as if he’d missed something on the first look. “Who’re you, anyhow?”

Levi tugs at his hat. “No person much. I just passed through ol’Dallas. My horse got shit-scared at a gun shot and took off when I was takin’ a piss. Had to walk the rest of my way ‘till I found another town.”

“You walked all the way here? Bullshit. Do y’know where you are, son? This is Corsicana. Ain’t no way you got here on foot.”

“I was camping on the outskirts, alright? Wasn’t as far. Well, I’m here now anyway. Can I get some godamned water.”

The barman tutts and shakes his head, but turns to the taps nonetheless. He wordlessly plants an overflowing pint in front of Levi and stomps off. Levi watches as cool water drips down the sides of the glass before picking it up. He wants to gulp it down but he still feels eyes all over him. Besides, he should savour what might be his last drink for a long while.

He sips his glass and flips through the newspaper. There’s nothing much he’s looking for, and Levi belatedly realises the issue is two weeks out of date. The shootout was just last week. It feels like it’s been months. Slow days and slow nights. Wandering aimlessly.

Levi sighs and turns his attention elsewhere. He spots an old TV hung next to one of the whiskey shelves and leans in to see through the static. Levi can’t hear shit with all the chatter, so he motions to the bartender.

“What d’ya want?”

“Could’ya turn the TV up. Please.” Levi gets a despondent grunt, but the volume is quickly raised. It’s a news channel - one of the few left - and the music starts playing for the Bounty Hunter update. Perfect.

A western lady appears on the screen and points to a photographed Wanted poster. Her lilted words take a while to process ; Levi’s focused on the mugshot. It’s dated and monochrome, but still undoubtedly Levi. His blood chills despite the heat.

“Boy, have we got a special treat for y’all today! Levi Ackerman, late twenties, multiple counts of armed robbery, arson, and third degree murder! Time to catch him before he’s goin’ on second, don’tcha think?” She winks at the camera and grins.

“Last seen in Denver a week ago. His partners were killed in a crossfire at their last showdown, but he escaped in a red truck headin’ South. Catch ‘em dead or alive for a reward of -“ finally the part that everyone is waiting for, “five million!“

Levi buries his head in the papers. Where’d the state even get that kind of money? This puts Levi in the top ten Most Wanted. It seems half the population will be after him. There’s no driver like money, and Levi’s a pot of gold.

He takes the announcement as his cue to split. Levi’s got the information he needs and his legs are itching to run. Giving in to his primitive instincts might be the only thing that can save him now. Levi downs the rest of the water, readying to fold his newspaper up, when a tall shadow falls upon the bartop. He hadn’t been paying attention to who moved and where from.

Levi slowly sinks back into his stool and dips his head. He taps his fingers to an offbeat rhythm on the edge of his glass, trying his hardest to appear engrossed in the papers. The shadow doesn’t move on. He peaks over the top of the article and sees a man staring down at him. Levi quickly scans from his hands to his eyes, but finds no tension or violent intent. He turns back to the news. “Can I help you?“

“Do you mind if I sit here?“ The voice is low but smooth, confident and steady. He’s not from around here. Levi wants to reply with snark, but figures that would only draw unwanted attention. Instead he tries for antisocial, and speaks gruffly like the locals.

“Makes no difference to me.“ The stranger smiles politely and pulls the adjacent stool. Levi takes the chance to get a better look whilst the man’s attention is elsewhere.

He appears in the midst of tanning from early Spring, but his blue eyes and neat blond cut don’t match a Southerner’s. The man looks fit for city work and coming home to his wife, yet he wears his holsters with ease. Levi makes note of his pistols, one at each hip, and the chest straps holding a pair of knives at his shoulders. Leather boots barely make it halfway up his calves. A string cord hangs around the man’s bare neck, probably holding a chapeau at his back.

This isn’t one of those city workers. Smells like a Hunter. Levi reclines to feel the familiar shape of his pistol resting between his back and the stool.

Levi should get up and go. It would mean abandoning his shoddy cover of papers, but he doesn’t want to stick around to see realisation form in the man‘s eyes. There‘s definitely some serious muscle hiding behind that tight shirt.

“Forgive me for intruding, but I overheard that you’ve come down from Dallas.“ Levi‘s fingers still. “You didn’t happen to come across that Ackerman boy, did you?“

If Levi dismisses him right off the bat, it could seem suspicious. “What’s it to you?“ He says, casually defensive.

“Ah, well I’m after his bounty, you see.“ Levi is shocked by the man’s straightforwardness. Few Hunters are so direct, as remaining inconspicuous usually results in the quickest capture. Levi must look pretty under the weather to not even be considered competition.

“Ain’t seen a soul. It’s barren in these parts.” Levi considers his next words, “Did see his truck, though.”

“Yes, that’s actually why I’m here.” The man leans one arm on the counter and studies Levi’s hunched body.

“Well if I were you, I wouldn’t be stickin’ ‘round long.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Ackerman doesn’t seem like the stupid kind. If I were him, I’d have left the truck as a decoy. He’s probably made it to the East coast by now.“ Levi’s just revising what he _should_ have done. Cars are a luxury few can afford - only electric ones still around. No oil left on the whole planet, Levi’s heard. City transport is mostly trams and trains. Country dwellers took to horses. Riding a red Chevy across the state is pretty darned noticeable.

The man smiles. When Levi squints, he thinks it akin to a smirk. “That‘s exactly what I’m hoping the other Bounty Hunters will think. But I know better.“

His tone is almost dangerous. Levi thinks he might have missed something on the first once-over. Who’s this man, to be so cocky? “And who might you be, exactly?“

“Of course, I’m sorry. The name’s Erwin Smith.“

Oh. Levi takes one look at Smith‘s deft hand, outstretched towards Levi’s own, and has to clench his fists to keep from bolting. The newspaper crumples where his fingers grip the edges. The man’s hand smoothly returns to the bartop as if it weren’t rejected.

“What do you need with five million?“ Levi wills himself not to sound overly spiteful. His panic does the trick ; it subdues every word that Levi forces out his mouth.

Smith just laughs. He settles with a small smile, looking slightly rueful. It makes Levi sick. “You’re right, I was going to give this up after my last catch. But when I heard Ackerman fled, I couldn’t help but join the chase. He’s notorious, isn’t he? Not to mention the blood on his hands.“

“Doin’ this for the greater good, are you?“ Levi glares from under the rim of his hat.

Smith’s wistful smile tugs down into something more serious. “Not everyone’s just in it for the money, you know.”

Levi tries not to scoff. Smith might be more famous than Levi himself. He’s caught enough crooks to live a happy life three times over without ever having to work again. Perhaps they’re alike in that sense ; they both can’t keep from taking on jobs if the pay-up is high. (His friends would still be alive if Levi only knew how to stop). The lives he and Smith lead are addictive, in their own respect. Criminal is the only occupation Levi knows.

But the man’s play at righteous is nauseating. If Farlan were here, they’d bloody him up and leave him unconscious behind the saloon. But he’s not here. Levi’s alone. The knife in his boot feels heavy.

“Tell me, then. Why do you know better?”

Smith blinks hazily before catching up to the question “I think he’s gotten lazy.”

Levi raises his brow, though he’s not sure Smith sees it from under his hat. The man continues, anyway. “Ackerman lost both his partners at the gunfight. In the ten years he’s been active, his partners haven’t changed once. It’s obvious they were his dear friends. He hasn’t been alone for a long while. That’s not just something you can walk away from. Even him.”

“You think a criminal cares deeply enough, that he’s been thrown off his game?”

“I don’t think it. I know it. He’s around here somewhere. I’ll sniff him out.”

“Ol’ timer like you? Why don’t you jus’ quit while you’re ahead?”

“Hey, watch it. I’m still in my prime.” Smith’s lighthearted expression really does make him look younger than his mid-thirties. Almost too relaxed to be experienced. Levi’s not buying it. He’s heard the tales. This man could hit a can from fifty yards. He’d caught two dozen crooks in his best year alone. Levi doesn’t feel like playing.

Clearing his throat, Levi pushes off his stool and hops to the ground. He spits in his empty glass, unwillingly replacing the crumpled newspaper to the bartop. Levi knows Smith is watching him, but he’s careful not to meet his eyes. It’s tempting - old habits die hard, and all. Levi has spent years perfecting his stare-down.

He tips his hat in Smith’s direction - a curt farewell - and tries his best not to rush the exit. Levi thinks he feels his knife through the leather of his boot, though that’s impossible - the sheath is surely too thick. The hollow tap of Levi’s heels on the floorboards echo with each agonisingly slow step.

Levi is only halfway to the door when he feels a large hand on his shoulder. The touch turns him into stone. Levi bites his tongue and drags his lead feet around until he’s facing Smith. He stares at the man’s boots and forms fists at his sides. Deep breath in.

“Excuse me. You forgot this.”

A pistol is shoved under his nose. Levi’s pistol, hilt first. Deep breath out. He manages to unclench one fist long enough to retrieve his gun.

Only Smith doesn’t release it. Levi blames it on his own sudden muscle weakness (just give it another tug) but Smith holds fast.

That’s when Levi makes his first mistake. When Smith doesn’t let go of the barrel, Levi looks up in surprise. The man gets a clear view of his face.

His second mistake is wasting precious seconds reaching down for his knife. The plan is to cut Smith’s wrist so that Levi can twist the gun and fire into his gut. 

As soon as Smith’s face morphs into recognition and surprise, reaching for his holster, Levi hears the piercing scrape of a dozen chairs and the ready click of guns.

Of course. Levi’s so fucking witless. All caught up in Smith’s chatter to forget the obvious: the man never hunts without his crew.

Bullets spit a salvo as gunpowder clouds the room. It burns Levi’s nose. Shot after successive shot screeches past his trembling limbs. Levi takes advantage of his jumbled knowledge - Smith takes his bounties alive (probably part of his righteous complex) - and hurls himself over the bartop. Smith’s crew are aiming to take out his legs. Down here he’s safe. For now.

The shots suddenly quiet ; must be Smith’s signal. Levi crawls over shattered glass - spilled liquor stinging his grazes - and crouches by the edge of the counter. In the silence he can hear his thundering heart. Levi looks down at his blood mixing with the alcohol. He gives himself until the cocktail fully soaks through the floorboards to make a move.

Smith’s still got his pistol (where is the bastard?) Levi had ditched it in favour of saving his limbs. He’s got nothing except his knife. Feels pathetic now, really. There’s no shotgun behind the counter, nor handgun on the shelves. Levi crushes shattered bottles beneath his fingertips and curses the blond son of a bitch. He curses every goddamned Bounty Hunter on the continent. Levi thinks he might’ve finally hit it. The end of the line. (Sorry Isabel. Farlan too.)

He’s not surprised, though. Not really. Levi can talk his game but he’s a damned fool, when it comes down to it. Born to be alone, and yet alone he can’t cope. Couldn’t say why. Curse his luck and that son of a bitch.

Levi nearly gives in. He really does. Almost puts his hands behind his head and lets them tie his ass up. Levi’s tired of the bullshit. But then he thinks of his friends, and how they didn’t die just so that he could drop to his knees for some self-righteous phonies.

He peaks out from behind the counter, bracing his hands on the cabinet. Three on the left. Five to the right. The rest of the average joes have cleared out.

A bullet whistles past his head and Levi flings himself back behind the bar. His ear rings like hell. Warmth trickles down his neck.

“Hey, not the head! I said alive!”

Levi pinpoints the voice to the other side of the counter. Damn that Smith. Phony bastard. Levi searches the rows of bottles - the ones remaining, anyway. He looks for Smith’s reflection. Maybe he can take the devil out, if nothing else. They could go down together. That wouldn’t be so bad.

When his eyes reach the end of the row, Levi spots a small, card box. The red design is familiar. Matches. This could work.

Levi hears feet crunching towards the bar. He’ll have to make this quick. Smith is careful, but he also knows he’s got the advantage. Levi will be darned if Smith threatens him with his own pistol.

He tries to be quiet as he shuffles around for unbroken bottles. Levi finds two half empty. They’ll have to do. He reaches down to his boot, pulling out his knife, and gets to work cutting his shirt. The cloth at his waist is the first to go. Levi stuffs the rags into each bottle lip.

“Ackerman.” His hands still. “Levi. You’ve got nowhere left to run. You’re smart. You know. Come on out.”

Levi blocks out Smith’s taunts and focuses on how he’s going to reach the matches. Too slow and he’ll lose the arm.

“Would your friends want you dying from your own stubbornness? Look, we’ll put in a good word for you. Come quietly and you may get out of prison before you die.”

Oh, the bastard is going to get it. Levi stretches his leg out and nudges the shelves. Most of the bottles from this one are already on the ground, luckily. Another nudge, and the box shifts to the edge.

“Prison is easier if you’ve got all your limbs, Levi. Come on.”

He sees Smith, then. In the broken bottle by his foot. He’s not holding Levi’s pistol, but he’s got his own held out. One more metre and he’ll see Levi.

“Fine, have it your way.”

The tread of boots is quiet, but completely distracting in the silence. One last shove, and the box drops to the floor. It’s light enough to make no sound. He kicks the pack with his heel until he can reach it with his hands. When Levi pulls out a match, he notices that his fingers are trembling. The clink clink of boots sound ever closer.

Levi strikes. It doesn’t catch. He tries again, but he’s barely steady enough to create any friction. The footsteps stop.

His third strike sets the match alight. Levi brings it to the cloth and the blaze is a rush of relief.

Bang. The bullet rips past his wrist, scraping to the bone. Levi hauls his body around, shielding the molotovs in front of him. Another shot sends an explosion of fire through Levi’s shoulder. Smith’s going to wish he aimed for the head.

Levi leaps around the counter and throws without looking, one to the left and one to the right. The shattering of bottles is the most satisfying noise he’s heard in weeks. 

Scarlet beasts engulf the room, bright and harsh and searing. The shouts, shots, screams - flames absorb it all. Levi can’t see, but it’s no matter. He memorised the direction of the exit before he raised hell. The smoke draws burning tears from his eyes, so Levi squints as he scrambles to the door.

Through the red haze, Levi sees a metallic glint on the table he passes. It’s his pistol, left abandoned. Levi reaches for the gun and trips on his way. He clasps the hot, metal hilt in his palm just as his knees hit the floor. His lungs feel like they house their own fire. Shouldn’t be breathing. But Levi really needs some air.

He crawls the rest of the way. Levi thinks his jacket has been flared off his back, though that could be the pain from the bullet lodged in his shoulder.

Grabbing the doorknob is a godsend, as much as it is torturous. A ring of fire is engraved into his palm. Levi manages to turn it with his fleeting strength and all but falls down the steps. He rolls across the dirt. The dust clouds do nothing for his laboured breathing.

Sounds of nearing company are enough to get Levi moving. He drags his body onto his feet and spins around. It makes his head dizzy, but he doesn’t stumble. On his third turn he locates the horses, tied by a trough. He makes for the nearest pony and hopes to the heavens that he’s nicked one belonging to Smith‘s troupe.

The saddle is far too high for Levi to reach, but the stairs are already creaking behind him, so he grips the reigns and hauls himself onto its back. The horse whinnies in complaint and Levi silently apologises.

He forgoes the stirrups -seriously, who has legs this long? - and kicks his heels in. She shuffles, but apparently doesn’t feel like moving. There’s shouting from the open door. Levi doesn’t have time for this stubborn mare. He tilts his boots and digs his spurs into her flesh. The resisting muscle makes Levi cringe. They race through town, and it’s all Levi can do to not fall off backwards. The whistle of bullets chase their heels, but there’s no heavy pounding of horses in pursuit. Not yet.

When they make it to the gateway, Levi can finally breath. Real breaths ; an ungodly wheezing. It’s back to the desert. Golden sand stretches before him, though with each passing day it’s looking more like beige.

Levi curses the wind this time. The lack thereof, anyhow. The mare’s hooves leave prints like the brand of a hot iron. There’s no breeze to cover their tracks with fresh sand. Levi doesn’t feel like leaving Smith a follow-me sign, so he searches for other tracks he can merge with his own. Unfortunately it seems no one cares to visit nor leave this miserable town.

He gallops East instead. Levi thinks it’s East, anyway, though it could just as easily be anywhere inbetween. Farlan had been good at all the sun-reading schematics, calculating direction from its movements. That may have been for telling the time, actually. Levi has no reason to know the time anymore.

On the horizon stretches a scattering of trees. Or rocks. Or it could be a half-buried car park, like the one they’d found back in Dakota. Isabel had a field day with all that. Levi heads there anyway, welcoming any kind of cover. He slows to a canter.

Smith will come for him. Levi will run for as long as he has to. Some say fleeing is no life, but at least he’ll be free. He’s done it for ten years. What’s fifty more?

Two hundred and eighty five. That’s the number of times Levi took a shot before hitting bullseye. He remembers practicing in the field with Kenny. Sally from the market said Levi was too young to be holding a gun (only twelve, the poor boy!) but Kenny said he wouldn’t raise no incompetent half-assed kid for a nephew, and that was that.

Kenny wouldn’t let him touch his shotgun yet, not that Levi cared. He seemed to recognise Levi’s distaste for guns as well. On Levi’s thirteenth birthday, Kenny gifted him his own knife. It ain’t a present, he made it clear, jus’ a coincidence I gave it to you on your birthday, is all. It was sharp and slim, fitting nicely in his small palm. Levi still practiced with his pistol, but for once he actually enjoyed Kenny’s lessons when blades were involved.

He wonders if he’d have ended up here, if he could shoot proper with his gun. Smith sure knows how. Levi unwraps the cheapjack bandage he’d tied around his wrist and wonders why Smith missed. He was surely aiming for the bottle, or the meat of his hand, not to skim Levi’s wrist.

If he didn’t know better, Levi would call it hesitance. The risk of hitting something vital, weighing on the conscience. But Smith is the most sure-footed man this side of the state, the steadiest gun-hand around. Levi is in no state to be shaking convictions.

He looks around the dead forest. They _were_ trees, after all. Levi’s never seen green woodlands ; he wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t any left. They’d dreamed about it though, all three of them. Guess it doesn’t matter anymore.

The steady rushing of the river is fast becoming distracting. Levi won’t be able to hear anyone approach until they’re well within shooting range. He’s not sure if his stolen pony will grant him a fast getaway. She’s got an unrelenting temperament, like Levi himself, but her proud stubbornness reminds him of Smith. Levi supposes the risk of capture is worth it, if it means he’s stolen Smith’s horse.

Levi chooses a flat rock by the bank and sits down. He’s done his best to ignore the incessant flare of pain through his shoulder blade, but he has to address it eventually. The bullet didn’t make it out the other side. Just another addition to Levi’s sour luck.

He reaches into his boot and pulls out his knife. It’s not clean by any means, but Levi’s got nothing else. He plunges it into the water and prays for good health.

Levi can’t see the wound from this angle, so he turns himself on the rock to view his back in the river‘s reflection. His form is ever changing as it ripples in the steady stream, but Levi can rely on feeling well enough.

He brings the blade to his shoulder and pokes around. There’s something solid beneath the surface, and Levi traces around it before digging in. Fire lances down his arm and scolds his muscles - nothing worse than usual. He locates the nose of the bullet and flicks his blade so it presses upwards. The bullet pops out with a bit of work. Levi chucks it into the stream.

More of his shirt has to go for the new bandage. It’s going to be a cold night. He tightly wraps the puncture, tying the cloth atop his shoulder. Levi watches the river and sighs.

This place isn’t much, but it isn’t nothing. Distant chatter of birds drifts across the water. He sees a flutter of wings here and there, none too brave to leave their cover of trees. The branches are stripped bare, but there’s enough spindly wood to hide the smaller creatures. 

Isabel loved the Spring, and the birds and chatter and warmer mornings. She asked Levi what Spring was like Before. He wishes he could’ve told her, the honest truth. Levi was still eating liquid food back then and had no memories of the former season. Could’ve asked Kenny. Never did.

He realises that he’s stalling. It’s not too bad a place after all, but Levi’s got to get moving. Slowly he rises to his feet - ankles clicking - and ambles to his (sort of) horse. She’s chewing half-dried grass in a clearing, looking satisfied enough. Her coat is a chestnut brown, like the nuts he used to pick back home in Virginia. They’d slow-roast them, him and Kenny, over a fire at Christmas. He’s pretty hungry now.

Though the sun’s dipping below the horizon, Levi has no reason to stick around and rest. It’ll be throwing away the lead he rode so hard to gain, and he’s used to short nights by now. The mare huffs when he mounts, but she must be weary of his spurs and starts off without even a kick. He takes note to clean her gashes next time they stop.

They ramble down an old path until the moon’s out in full swing. Levi’s eyes drift shut every few kilometres, but he forces them back open every time. It’s only when he starts sliding off the saddle that he thinks maybe it’s time to stop, just for a little while. He stumbles when his boots hit the gravel.

The mare decides it’s stop time too. She trots over to a patch of yellow grass and dips her head to feed. Levi can’t blame her ; his own empty stomach is making him weary. He walks to the freshest looking tree, down by the water’s edge, and peels back the bark until he sees green. Levi collects a handful and slumps onto an old log. He chews a piece slowly and watches the pony. She pauses eating to glare back at Levi. Stubborn mare.

It’s not long before he starts drifting off. He can’t help it, really - the rushing river and quiet chewing and distant birds form a lullabye. Maybe he can rest, at least for a few hours.

Levi crawls to the bushrow and pushes enough shrubbery aside to fit underneath. He turns back to collect a mixture of twigs, dry grass, and feathers, scattering them as evenly as possible in the alcove.

The pony looks comfortable where she is, so Levi goes over to rifle through the scant belongings attached to her saddle. The previous owner left a lasso and a tiny leather pouch. He unwinds the rope and ties the horse to a sturdy looking tree, before returning for the pouch.

There’s just a few coins inside - not enough to get him much of anything - which explains the tinkling during the ride here. Levi thinks of his own lump-sum of (stolen) cash he’d been collecting in a bank up North. He couldn’t get it now, even if he wanted to. By law the cops couldn’t touch it, but Levi would be recognised the second he stepped foot in the city. No doubt they’d be waiting.

Levi heads back to the hedge and climbs in for the night. His makeshift bed is nothing short of abysmal. Levi’s slept in worse. He counts birds until he forgets his own name.

Hoofbeats and urgent shouts startle Levi awake. For a second he thinks he’s been spotted, but he’s completely covered by shrubs. Was it Isabel or Farlan? He can’t see them. Had they been caught?

Levi spots a single pony and takes a deep breath. They’re not here. It’s just him. He rolls out from under the bush and stays crouching as he crawls towards the horse‘s reigns. He gets the rope untied, though she doesn’t make it easy. She’s noticed that they have company, shuffling and snorting on the spot. Levi mistakes it as urgency to return to her owner as he yanks her down the riverbank, but he meets no resistance. Were these not Smith‘s riders?

Laying prone in the dirt, he wills the pony to stay as he crawls back up to peak over the bank. Two hunters on horseback stumble down the slope to a makeshift camp. The burnt-out fire is just a few dozen metres from where Levi‘d been sleeping. It’s a miracle they weren’t seen.

“Time to pack up. We’ve got a report you need to take to Chief,“ one of the riders says to a man crouching by the fire.

“Y‘all found somethin‘?“

“Tracks came this way. Means he’s ‘round here somewhere. Tell Chief we‘ll be scouting the area. Follow the river West and you‘ll find him.“

“West? What’s he doin‘ by the desert?“

“Quite the commotion in Corsicana yesterday noon. He thinks Smith‘s group had a run-in with Ackerman.“

Yesterday. Levi notices with a panic that he‘d slept through the whole night.

“Lucky bastard. He can’t even catch the boy when he’s right under his nose.“

The rider grunts and pulls his horse around. His partner follows suit. As they trot off, he turns and calls back, “we‘ll catch em!“

Levi watches them depart until they’re invisible behind the treeline. He shifts his attention to the remaining hunter, clearing up cans and flasks, and wills him to hurry up.

Just how many men are after him? Levi’s used to it by now - the chase no longer enjoyable when he’s riding alone - and these second-rate hunters don’t scare him at all. Smith, on the other hand, unsettles him to the core. That unshakable calm and and cocky smirk ; Levi doesn’t want Smith’s death to be quick. It’s a new feeling just as much as it is unwelcome, and it’s scraping his nerves raw.

Levi isn’t the senseless-killer type. He only shoots when fired at. That hasn’t stopped him making his fair share of enemies though ; it’s just more efficient to aim for the head. Yet Erwin Smith can get under his skin like no other. Levi knows it’s partly due to his scattered disposition after losing his friends, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up going out as a murderous psychopath.

Finally the hunter climbs onto his horse and heads out. When Levi‘s sure there’s no one else around, he brushes himself off and gets on his mare, pulling out in the opposite direction.

The sun‘s rising over the treetops, golden light spilling through naked branches and casting shadows over the cracked ground. Every so often he spots hoof tracks, embedded shallow in the earth. Levi changes course each time he sees them.

It’s been a while since Levi’s been alone with his thoughts, but watching the barren landscape stretch by, he finds his mind empty. As quiet as the backcountry. Levi doesn’t mind the hush ; he takes a break from his thoughts, like how the Earth is taking a break from humans.

Tall grass emerges from the ground the further they trek. Soon they’re surrounded by yellow fields and chirping crickets. The fields carry for miles in every direction. If he travelled forever Levi knows he’d reach the coast. It sounds like a dead end, an easy trap if he’d ever heard one, but the closer to water you go, the more people you’ll find. Levi doesn’t want to spend time in civilisation - he’d be happy to never see another face for the rest of his life - but he can’t survive like this. Willingness alone won’t lead to capability.

Levi angles back towards the river for water. He joins up with an overgrown lane on the way, following it down to the banks. There’s an old shack nestled in the brush. As Levi nears he can hear muffled notes, like the plucking of strings. He passes it off as retreating wildlife until the cabin is just a dozen metres away. Levi hears it clearer now. A foreign tune of simple cords and gentle melody.

The man playing the guitar sits on the porch of his cabin. He doesn’t look up as Levi passes. Levi could continue down the path and save himself any trouble, but the day’s already hit noon, bringing with it sticky heat. The pony deserves to rest as well. She’s done well getting him here.

Levi pulls on the reigns and comes to a stop. Still the old man‘s fingers strum his guitar. Levi waits a beat before grunting, “S‘cuse me.“

He hadn’t realised just how parched his mouth is. Thirsty, sure, but his words carry such a rasp that they’re barely audible. Levi clears his throat and tries again. “Howdy.“

The man looks up from under his white hair and watches Levi shuffle uncomfortably. Levi notices his nose is crooked, as though it’s been broken one too many times. “Is there something you want, son?“

“You got any water? For my horse and me. I can pay. I ain’t got much, mind you.“

He doesn’t move, just stares at Levi from his perch. Levi clenches the reigns and blinks against the harsh sunlight. “Look, if you want me to move on just say. I haven’t got all day.“

“Gotta a mouth on you, I‘ll say.“ The man studies Levi for another moment, then stands with a sigh, propping his guitar against the cabin. “Hop on down and come inside. You can tie her up ‘round the back.“

Levi jumps down and winces at the impact. He walks the short way around the side of the cabin and ties her up in a makeshift stable. Levi’s not sure the post he‘s tied her to is strong enough to hold, but he trusts her not to run off for now.

He returns to the front and climbs up the sagging steps. The man’s nowhere in sight, so Levi heads inside and shuts the door behind him. There‘s little to no decoration in the room, just dusty photographs and a few faded posters. A musty smell clings to everything. The old man is shuffling around some cabinets at the back, in what Levi assumes to be a kitchen. A small, iron gas burner substitutes for an oven and there’s even a kettle on the counter.

There’s nowhere to sit besides a fraying armchair by the log fire. Levi doesn’t feel like making himself at home anyway, being inside a stranger’s house and all.

He doesn’t want to be nosy, but standing stock-still makes him feel even more awkward, so he busies himself looking around. The posters display strong greens and blues, still vibrant despite the age, and Levi recognises vast forests and lakes like the ones Kenny described.

Levi was still young when he asked Kenny to tell him about the national parks. Seven, maybe eight. He’d heard them mentioned at school and wanted to know what they were really like. Not the factual description, but what it would’ve been like to actually _be_ there, to stand among trees ten times taller than any man and look out across a lake you couldn’t see the end of. Kenny‘d humoured him, only because Levi was so annoying and childish, and wouldn‘t shut up until he got his own damned way. Goddammit.

He pulls his gaze away and instead turns to the photographs propped on the table. Unlike the ones hung against the walls, these are spotless and shining. Levi touches the edge of a smooth frame as he searches the picture. Two grinning girls perch on a rock, held close by a man with a crooked nose in the middle. He’s smiling at the camera, though it’s clear he’s making sure the girls don’t fall backwards off the cliff. Levi recognises the backdrop as the one from the poster.

Warm breathing at the back of his neck startles Levi from his thoughts. He turns abruptly and sees the old man holding a bucket in his wizened hand. He doesn’t look at Levi, just stares at the photo Levi was startled away from. He steps away to give the man room.

“Summer in the Rockies. It was our favourite holiday. Long drive, mind, but it was always worth it.”

Levi clears his throat and shifts on his feet. “You uh, went there often?”

“Every year.” He points a finger towards the photo. “That was our last trip. Course we didn’t know that, at the time.”

Levi nods. The man is still staring at the picture. 

“They would’ve been thirty today.” Levi thinks back to the song he heard from the porch. He wanders if it was anything special.

“You can take yer hat off in here, son. Looks like you need a break.“ The man doesn’t sound any kind of suspicious, but Levi still flicks his gaze around the room. There’s no TV in sight, nor any newspapers. He tentatively reaches up and pulls off his hat, laying it to rest atop the armchair‘s back.

The man turns wordlessly and walks back out the door. Levi follows him to a small water pump almost hidden in the grasses. Levi watches him place his bucket beneath the mouth and struggle as he yanks at the lever. His breaths come heavy. A tiny stream of water trickles into the bucket, then stops as quickly as it came. Levi shuffles closer.

“Hey, let me.“

“I’ve managed on my own long enough.“

“Don‘t go breaking your back over some stranger,” Levi replies. The man grumbles, but hobbles off.

Levi gets to work pumping the water as he watches the man amble over to the horse. She chews the grass beneath her hooves, though it’s not all too pleasant looking. The man reaches up into a nearby tree and pulls off a couple apples, offering them to the pony. She bites one aggressively and snorts.

Once Levi‘s filled the bucket nearly two thirds, he joins them beneath the cover of the stable. The shade is a welcoming cool. He kneels down and cups his hand in the water, bringing it to his cracked lips and quenching his aching throat. The water‘s cleaner than the river stuff he’s been drinking the past few days. Once Levi‘s satisfied, he drags the bucket underneath the mare’s nose. She starts slurping hungrily. Levi just leans back on his knees and watches the grass sway.

After a while he remembers his company. He stands and reaches for the pouch hanging from the saddle, turning to the old man who’s attention is elsewhere. “I’ve only a got few coins. You can take my rope too, if that’s of any use.“

The man looks at Levi and idly flicks his fingers. “Keep your money, son. I’ve got no need for it.“ With that he turns around and walks back inside. Levi watches the pony eating her second apple off the floor and sighs.

He retrieves an apple of his own and sits on the front porch. His hat is waiting atop the fencing. It’s the sweetest thing he’s eaten in forever, the apple. Levi should start hunting, but it’s no easy task. Maybe once he’s in the clear, he’ll start thinking about food for the long term. 

When he’s finished he sits some more. There’s a slight breeze picking up, though his jacket’s still an expert heat-trapper. Darned leather. The crickets don’t stop for no one, Levi’s learnt. Their chatter is relentless. Not too loud, though. Levi doesn’t mind their presence. It’s hard to find company that isn’t out to get him, these days. 

The sun starts dipping, so Levi takes his leave. He brings the mare around the front and winds up his rope. Before he returns to the path, Levi unties the pouch and places it beside the man’s guitar, still propped on the porch. He climbs back down the rickety stairs and resumes his ride.

An orange glow clinging to the edge of the Earth is all that remains of evening. Dusk heat is still heavy and Levi feels it seeping in through his skin. He’s travelled so far South, he couldn’t even guess at the distance they’ve come. He can only hope it’s far enough.

The old man’s song keeps playing in his head. Levi’s no hummer and so he keeps the tune inside, but it’s never annoying. The melody is oddly comforting ; Levi feels so tired. He pulls the pony over and barely remembers to tie her to a branch.

Levi thinks about sleeping and then it’s taking him already, pulling him down the trunk of a tree and closing his eyes. It’ll be deadly cold when Levi wakes, but he just can’t bring himself to find shelter. He falls asleep with the dying light.

Skin on skin, a bruising grip. Should be morning, but where’s the light? Levi blinks viciously until his eyes come into focus. A cruel smile blocks his vision, and then he sees blistered cheeks and flinty eyes. One of the hands pinning his shoulder moves to his neck. Levi chokes and thrashes but the weight is twice his own. His pistol’s gone. There’s no way he’s reaching his knife.

“Over here! It’s definitely Ackerman, all right.”

Levi hears the shuffle of boots and then another person crouches into view.

“Tie him up. Knock him out if he’s trouble.”

The grin widens, and Levi hits his head against the hard ground.

“Yessir.“

A fist connects with his temple, and it’s lights out.

Levi comes to with a shrill pain pounding his skull. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. An eternity of darkness sounds appealing. But then Levi recalls his rude awakening, and the reason his head is so fucking sore, and his eyes shoot open.

There’s a wooden wall in his way. It takes Levi a moment to realise that’s it’s not so much a wall, but a bar counter, and it looks so darned tall because he’s tied to the gound. Levi concentrates on his bindings and recognises the feeling of worn rope. He tugs his wrists but nothing budges. Levi pulls harder, the rope scratching his skin, and feels something shift. Something heavy. Maybe a table.

Levi hears a pair of feet - no, two pairs - tip tap across the wooden floor. They sound heavy in the quiet of the room. Leather boots appear before him. Levi’s reluctant to look up.

A finger under his chin does the job for him. The nail feels sharp as it hooks into his skin. Levi glares at the man crouched in front of him, but they both know he’s utterly powerless.

“He’s feisty, Erwin.“

Levi rips his gaze to Smith, who’s still standing over him. He hates the way he has to crane his neck to stare him in the eyes. “Snatching me in my sleep? That’s cheap, Smith.“

“Says the thief.“

Levi holds his gaze but finds nothing in Smith‘s eyes. His cool is infuriating.

“We‘ll be moving out shortly. Will you make this difficult for us, Ackerman?“

Levi turns his head to stare at the bar counter. Silence only lasts a few moments before the crouching man backhands Levi across the mouth. “He asked you a question.“

“If he comes down here, maybe I’ll listen.“

Smith pauses for a moment as he studies Levi, but eventually stoops to Levi’s level, an arm resting on his knee. “Will you make this difficult for us?“

Levi spits in his face. He’s satisfied to see the way his blood spatters across Smith’s cheek. As Smith raises an arm to smoothly wipe away the muck, Levi catches sight under his sleeve. Ivory bandages wrap all the way to his elbow. The surrounding skin is red and raw. Levi‘s molotov really did a number on him, though that’s nothing compared to Smith’s friend. The other man has pink blisters stretching all the way up his neck, tracing his hairline to his forehead. Shit like that doesn’t heal clean.

Smith stands up and takes a step back. His friend rises too, though he takes a step closer to Levi, crowding his space. Levi watches him pull his foot back, and before he can react, the boot’s coming down and crushing his nose. Levi reels, but he can’t hit the floor. The rope bites his wrists and keeps him upright.

“Don’t disrespect Boss like that, you bastard.“

“Not my boss,“ Levi manages to croak. Then he blacks out.

Levi wakes in the exact same room, though this time it‘s filled with soft, orange light. He spots a small lamp atop the bar. Must be close to evening. Levi itches to check his face but the sting of the rope is a painful reminder of his helplessness.

Levi looks down to his feet and spots a red puddle staining the wood. He licks his lips and tastes the rusty tang of drying blood - at least the bleeding’s stopped. Levi then notices the long shadow reaching his scarlet stain and follows it back to its owner.

Smith sits on a barstool, nursing an amber liquid in his whiskey glass. He’s running his finger over something - a metallic object catching the light. When the vignette clears from his vision, Levi recognises it as his pistol.

Somehow Smith notices the attention, as though he’s got a sixth sense. ”It’s getting clogged up. You should clean it now and again.”

“I don’t care for it,” Levi says, instead of _I hate to hold it. To touch the weapon that killed my mother._

Smith studies him carefully. His prying gaze is irritating, like an itch Levi can’t scratch.

What annoys Levi more is his darned face. Smith’s plenty handsome, and you can tell he knows it too. He knows it in the way all handsome people do, thinking they can get what they want just by asking, and strutting around like they own the place.

Levi’s not interested in pretty faces anymore. Whatever charm Smith thinks he has, it won’t work on Levi. All he’s ever needed was his partners, and besides, petty attraction wasn’t something Levi had the time nor energy for.

When Levi was fourteen, Kenny caught him behind the stables with one of the older boys from town. He made a run for it immediately, leaving Levi behind, red faced and guilty. Kenny beat him blue. He said if he didn’t, the neighbourhood thugs would’ve done it instead, and they wouldn’t have left him standing. It left Levi’s pride sore, but he took Kenny’s warning for what is was ; he’s never cruel for no reason. Didn’t used to be, anyway.

Smith’s brows pull together. When he speaks, his voice is low. “I’m sorry about your friends.” No he’s not.

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m sorry they had to die. If we’d have been there, my crew and I, we would’ve captured them alive.”

“They’d rather be dead than rotting in prison,” Levi sneers, though his heart’s not really in it. It’s selfish, but Levi would rather Isabel and Farlan be alive anywhere than not at all.

Smith ignores his vitriol, and instead asks, “What happened at the shootout? How did you end up there?”

Levi doesn’t answer. He looks to the door and nods his head. “What’s his problem?”

“Other than the fact you’re the criminal we’re after?” Smith doesn’t even hesitate from the subject change.

Levi just stares at Smith, unimpressed. Smith rests his chin in his hand. “Mike’s a proud man. He likes his scars, from the fights he’s won. But the scars you’ve left on him are from a fight he lost. He’s probably trying to make up for it now.”

“Sorry, next time I’ll consider his ego problem before I set him on fire.”

Smith’s lips tug up at the sides. “Oh, no need to apologise. He won’t ever forgive you. Although ...”

Smith doesn’t finish his sentence, only looks back at Levi as he shakes his head.

“You know Levi, you don’t deserve to die, either.”

“Ackerman,” Levi corrects.

“Ackerman. I’m being serious. You don’t deserve death.”

Levi’s not so sure Smith is right. “Well, unfortunately it doesn’t seem that choice is up to me.”

Smith narrows his brows, then leans forward in his chair, almost urgently. “Then come quietly with us. Prison doesn’t have to be the end.”

“Ten years, Smith. I’ve been a criminal for ten years. There’s no way I’ll be getting out before I die in my cell.”

“Perhaps. Though serving your time is something you _do_ deserve. Living in prison isn’t no life at all, mind you. And you can’t keep running forever.”

Levi’s tired of this back and forth. And he really, really doesn’t want to let Smith’s words get to him. He can already feel the layers of his resolve being slowly peeled away.

“I’ll keep running until I keel over in the streets. Just you watch, Smith. This isn’t over.”

Smith looks pointedly down at Levi’s bound hands, then the room he’s confined in, before returning to Levi’s eyes. Smith is doing that trick of his, where he doesn’t even have to say anything to make Levi want to knock his teeth out.

There’s a scuffle outside and then Mike pokes his head through the door. “Erwin, there’s riders approaching.”

“Hange’s back?”

“Guess so.”

“Prep the horses.” Smith looks back down at Levi. “He’ll ride with me.”

Mike nods and walks out. Levi furrows his brows. “I’ve got my own horse.”

“Not yours,” Smith reminds him as he stands from his stool. He retrieves his hat from the counter and puts it on. He’s about to take a step towards Levi when a bang echoes from outside.

A bullet crashes through a window Levi can’t see, flying straight towards the bar and shattering a bottle, just an inch from Smith’s head. Liqour splashes everywhere. Levi feels drops on his face, stinging his cuts.

The next bullet accompanies a whole round, dipping trajectory until Levi hears them right behind his head, the dull _thud thud thud_ pounding ever closer as though embedding in wood. Thank god for the table.

Smith’s already ducked behind the bar, pistols gripped in each hand and returning fire from their balance on the counter. Each whistling bullet smashes a bottle or rips a new crack in the old oak. Glass shards scatter all around and lacerate Levi’s skin through his leather. He whips his head back and forth to find a piece of decent size.

“For God’s sake Levi, keep your head down,” Smith grunts, just as a bullet flies past Levi’s head. He could swear it cut through his hair.

“I’ll draw their fire.” Smith backs out the door, and with that, Levi’s alone. If Levi will give him anything, Smith’s true to his word ; the firing halts before starting up some distance away.

Levi resumes his search and finds a shard the size of his palm. Looks sharp, too. He stretches his leg out, feeling his hips strain, and manages to kick the glass towards him. Eventually his finger can touch the shard’s edge. He grips it, feeling the ridge cut his skin but doesn’t let up, and brings it beneath the knotted rope.

His palm feels wet and warm as he tugs the glass up and down. The blood makes his grasp slippery, but if Levi drops the shard he’ll never forgive himself. He really feels it now, the ache of his shoulder wound, screaming with every pull of his hand. The rope finally gives, and his arms fly apart.

Levi reaches up and grabs the first surface he can find. Shouting starts up outside, and there’s banging next door. He pulls himself up but his fingers slip and Levi lands on his knees. It feels like the skin rips over his caps. Levi hurriedly wipes his palms on his slacks but the leather absorbs nothing. He brings them to the floor, frantically running his hands down the wooden boards and leaving bloody streaks.

Levi finally hauls himself to his feet and clambers to the bar. He grips his pistol, and without time for hesitation, grabs the ammo hidden in his trousers and loads it up. The click is too familiar for Levi’s liking.

He heads to the window and checks outside, but there’s no one in sight. No horses, either. Levi tugs off hs jacket and lays it over the jagged window frame, the spiky glass being all that remains of the pane. He climbs over and out, dropping down on the other side.

Pulling on his jacket, Levi sticks close to the wall as he heads around front. He edges along the building until he reaches the entrance. The structure is rustic (dilapidated), so Levi guesses the place was abandoned, and Smith’s only squatting until his crew catches up. He presses his palm to the building’s corner and peaks around the edge.

Frantic hooves stir up dust, dyed red in the sunset. The men on their horses call to each other as they circle around to the front porch, taking aim from heavy shotguns that rip through the desert quiet. Levi sees Smith and Mike firing over and over at the rival crew. They’re severely outnumbered. No doubt they’ll run out of ammo soon too, he’s sure.

Levi spots three riderless horses making a commotion not far away. They all three are still tied up, meaning Mike barely stepped outside before the hunters attacked. Levi takes his chance in the racket and makes a break for the horses.

One of the horses sees Levi and starts towards him, yanking at its restraints. _His_ horse. Levi reaches out to her nose, stroking down her muzzle to calm her down. No time for knots ; Levi brings his other hand to his boot and pulls out his knife, cleanly slicing the rope. He tucks it away and retrieves his pistol again before grabbing the saddle.

A gunshot rips through the air. So close - Levi feels it take the skin off his knuckles. The burn is nothing when adrenaline pours through his veins. He whips his head around. A man struts forward on a charcoal horse, his body a silhouette against the blood-orange sky. On either side he’s flanked by the two riders from the woods. So this is Chief.

“Hey kiddo, it’s been a while,” Kenny drawls. Ten years, in fact. Levi’s first step into adulthood was more a leap halfway across the country. Kenny had dug himself in deep. Levi didn’t feel like getting dragged into the hole. Nurture proved tough to kick, though, and Levi had soon carved his own ditch.

Kenny draws his gun, squints, and pulls the trigger. There’s no warning. Levi doesn’t even move as the bullet flies towards him. The pistol Levi’s clutching flies out of his hand. He tells himself this is a bad thing. 

“I’d love to stay and catch up, but we’re not risking taking you alive.”

Levi’s horse looks like she’s one more gunshot away from bolting. He can sense her unease as she shuffles next to him. His back is to the wall, and around him towers half a dozen riders. When did they get here? All his attention was focused on his uncle.

Levi comes up with one remaining option ; he stalls. “You’re a Bounty Hunter now, Kenny? Someone should’ve told you that you can’t catch yourself.”

“I’m no crook if I’m not on the list.”

“Try saying that when you want to pass into Heaven,” Levi chides.

“You haven’t changed one bit, have you? I remember why I never missed you.”

“I’m surprised you forgot. Getting old?”

“Still young enough to find you. That was a pathetic show.”

“I wasn’t performing.” Kenny throws his head back and laughs. It’s as ugly as Levi remembers. 

“Sorry kid, but I need to be the one that brings you down. You understand, don’t you? It’s gotta be me.”

Levi has a jumble of words ready on his tongue, something like _crazy lunatic bastard_ , but he’s not blessed the chance to spit them out.

An ungodly yowl pierces the air and Levi snaps his head around. A hunter with flaming red hair and a ferocious war face thunders towards them, followed by a galloping group of riders right behind. The hunters aren’t even twenty metres away before they start firing. Levi can hardly comprehend the situation - he almost forgets to duck.

He hits the floor stomach down and pulls his hands over his head. Dust clogs his mouth and Levi chokes and spits as bullets hit every surface and his horse cries out in distress.

When the shots don’t quiet, Levi tips his head up to watch the showdown. Each side appears engrossed in the other, so Levi mounts his horse and flees the chaos. Smith’s nowhere in sight. He brushes the thought aside, intent on escape.

Levi can only presume the new arrivals are Smith’s crew. He can’t presume who’ll win, however, but either outcome will get a good number of hunters off Levi’s tail.

He barely makes it a dozen metres before a gruff voice calls, “Oh, no you don’t!”

Levi shouldn’t look back. He should dig his knees in and keep on heading straight. He turns anyway. 

Kenny’s bounding towards him, red faced and furious. He doesn’t even bother with his gun. Levi watches Kenny swing his lasoo and rips his attention onwards, trying his damned hardest to gain a lead. There’s nowhere to hide in this desert.

Rope loops around his waist. On his next breath, Levi goes flying. His weightlessness stretches seconds into minutes. Levi forgets where he is.

It comes crashing back as he hits the ground. Levi can’t breath ; his lungs are empty. He thinks he must be crushed. He can’t move a muscle.

A sudden jolt slams Levi’s back to the floor. His head reels. Levi can only see black. Then he starts being pulled - no, dragged - at a million miles an hour. He feels the harsh ground ripping through the leather and burning his skin, so much hotter than any fire. He blinks and blinks until the bloody sky flashes in his vision. The sky, or the backs of his own damned eyelids.

Levi grasps for something, anything, on the ground flying beneath him. But it’s the desert. Completely fucking barren. It feels like all the sinew on his back is being torn from the bone. He can’t even turn around to spit curses at Kenny. Maybe he’d die happily, if he could gut the man with the very knife he’d gifted Levi.

There’s another set of hooves, closer now, someone in persuit. Levi manages to crane his neck enough to identify the rider. Smith gallops towards them with his pistol out, framed by golden evening, making his hair glow like a goddamned angel. His hands don’t even shake, even with the up and down of his horse.

Levi watches in wonder as Smith takes aim. For a moment Levi thinks the bullet is coming for him, soaring straight towards his head, but then he feels the rope _snap_.

Levi rolls and rolls, over and over, until he’s sure he’ll never stop. He’s corrected with a face full of dirt. His arms shake so much so - he can’t even pull himself up.

Hoofbeats behind him, a hand in his jacket. “On your feet, Levi.”

Levi turns to look at Smith but he’s already riding away, Kenny forgot, heading to backup his crew. Levi follows suit, and retrieves his spooked horse. She doesn’t back away when Levi grabs her reins, so he gets right on. Every joint and muscle and limb burns like the sun. He grits his teeth and kicks his boots.

They’re fast. Not fast enough. Levi says a prayer and digs in his spurs for the second time. His mare whinnies in pain. Levi strokes her dark hair.

He listens carefully this time, for sounds of persuit. None come. The distant crack of bullets part for an urgent shout. “Go after him, Erwin! We’ll catch up once this is over!”

Smith can ride as hard as he likes, but Levi finally has the advantage. He’s known as the fastest rider in the South. Not even the perfect Smith has him beat in a flat-out chase. Levi is small and slim and Smith’s a fucking giant ; he trusts that his horse can hold out longer. Still, he hears the thunder of hooves as they pick up behind him. He won’t let Smith get him this time. He won’t.

Levi watches the sun rise through tired eyes. His horse is slowing too, stumbling over her own hooves as she drives onwards.

No, that’s a lie - they’ve been slowing for hours. Levi doesn’t want to admit it, but they probably haven’t made much distance at all ; his exhaustion makes it feel like they’ve been riding for days on end. Perhaps he has. Levi’s not yet been blessed with a good night’s sleep for god knows how long.

And his body aches. It aches like every step is a hammer to the ribs or lungs or head. Or his shoulder, which kills the most. Not to mention his whole fucking back. Levi must look like he’s been dragged though a meat grinder, and then shoved back through because the pieces weren’t small enough. Sure feels like that, anyway.

If Levi had the effort, he’d start complaining about the heat too. Only Spring, but the sun doesn’t care for his sweltering body. His sweaty, leather jacket rubs over the raw skin of his back. It’s agony, now that there’s no distractions around. 

The sands slope off to the left. Levi can’t see what lies below until he veers sideways and nears the edge. He intends to pause at the verge, to look down and survey the foreign terrain.

But when his pony plants her hooves in the sand and finally comes to a stop, she can’t take her own weight. The slope gives. They slip all they way to the bottom and Levi turns blind in the scattered dust.

He feels it when they screech to a stop, the way his horse buckles at the knees and snorts sand from her nose. A second later his momentum catches up, and he’s thrown over her dipped head.

Levi tumbles across the ground, shoulder over leg, and lands with his eyes facing the sky. He can’t bring himself to move. Would it be so bad, to just curl up and watch the clouds? It’s hard to remember why he’s running, when running feels like this: fire and pain and never an end in sight. Foot after foot, but no closer to anywhere. There’s nowhere to go.

Levi realises there never has been. People are what give him purpose, a goal to get to. There is no one left for Levi.

 _Prison doesn’t have to be the end._ Yeah right, easy for Smith to say. He’s probably never paid a fine in his life.

 _You don’t deserve death._ Now, that‘s an interesting one. Levi’s not heard _that_ before. It’s not like people don’t believe it - he’s sure a few people have cared for him in his life - but no one has ever said it. Aloud. Smith looked at him, looked right through him, and knew what Levi was thinking. It makes him grimace. It makes him hopeful. Worst of all, it makes him want to believe Smith’s words.

Prison, huh? Could it l be worse than life on the run? And if Smith does put a good word in, if Levi spits away his pride and _behaves_ , could he really be a free man in just a few years? It sounds nice. Too nice, but Levi’s too tired.

He cuts off the thought and drags himself upright, damp sand filling his nails. Levi can’t bear to wear this suffocating leather anymore, but he also won’t dare expose his tender skin to the shrill heat. Then, after a moment of dead thoughts, he realises the sand is _damp_.

Levi shamefully flails like a beached salmon for too darned long, before scraping onto his knees and searching the expanse beyond the bank. More charred trees, more red dust, but most importantly, a cobalt lake.

Each of his nails crack in protest and every muscle groans a curse as Levi hauls himself, inch by wretched inch, to the water’s edge. The lake’s fresh sent smells like Eden and it’s crystalline reflection speaks of Elysian ; Levi could cry when his fingertips plunge under the velvet surface.

A fixation - he can’t get enough of the sensation. Levi drops face first into the water and let’s his body gently ascend back up for air. He takes a languid sigh, as though breathing in this lake is far better than anywhere else.

The water slides beneath his clothes - prying away the second skin - and caresses his fiery skin, his aching wounds. Blue turns pink around his floating hands. Levi nearly sinks below the surface again and again. He glides to where his feet can touch the bottom, and closes his eyes.

There’s a second where Levi thinks this it: he’s staying here forever. The world slowly comes back into focus, one forgotten sense at a time, and recalls his abandoned horse as she huffs and wheezes just meters away. Levi doesn’t know if his throat can still form sound, so he forgoes his voice and whistles her over.

Levi takes slow sips from the lake as he watches her struggle upright. He‘s not sure is she’s obeying his call or just following her survival instincts when she limps towards him. Levi listens to her thirsty lapping as she dips to the water’s edge, and finds himself relieved to hear her finally drinking.

He busies himself extinguishing the fire in his throat and scrubs the dirt from his eyes. It’s his cuts to clean next, but they’re not so easy. Levi ignores the benefits of washing his injuries in favour of relaxing ; he feels dirty and vulgar, though just the thought of peeling away his clothes makes him feel worse tenfold. He’s half sure the skin on his back will be pulled off along with the shirt. 

Levi knew Kenny could be a bitch, but dragging his nephew across the dirt behind his horse is a new, unexpected low. Kenny is a demented man with a short temper: that’s the nicest description Levi can come up with. Kenny’s a darned good shot though, and an excellent thief at that. Levi owes too many of his skills to the man. It’s not the nicest of thoughts.

Kenny used to be a big shot. Took a break when he had to take in Levi though, troubled kid an‘ all, real piece of work. Needs the attention. Levi‘s not sure if the kind of attention Kenny gave him was the type most parents practiced, but he’s still alive, so he supposes learning how to gut a man before he’d even had his first kiss paid off. In its own special way.

The reason Kenny was looking after him always hung over them like a boulder, of course. A boulder so damned big that he could almost feel it, when dinners were quiet, or when Levi woke up screaming. Or when someone asked after his mother.

It’s not like anyone from town knew her. But that was the problem. Small town like that, people get curious when they see a young kid always walking about without his mom. Levi never answered the questions, just fixed them with a glare. Kenny didn’t seem too fond of sharing, either.

She worked in a brothel, not that Levi knew what that was at the time - he was only five when she died. He was at the age of interpreting the world through colours and emotions. And his mother never looked very happy, so he got the gist. She only ever glowed when looking at Levi. Her smile was beautiful, and he can only hope the memory is real. Her rosy lips, pulled into that sunny, upturned moon. It’s Levi‘s idea of beauty.

When one of her clients shot her through the heart, blood spattered her lips. Covered the curtains too, the walls, and Levi’s shirt. It’s what began his distaste for guns. The weapon creates such a distance between oneself and the victim, but holding a knife, you have to get up close. You have watch as you rob the soul from their body. It makes people more careful about who’s life they decide to take.

Kenny found him under the bed. He grimaced at the scrawny sack of bones from under his dark hat and pulled Levi onto his knee. But that’s why Levi trusted him, you see ; Kenny didn’t pretend to be kind. Not like the foxy man who didn’t break his manners until he pulled the trigger.

Kenny chased him, after. Told Levi he’d be back. Levi watched as he took off on his horse, knowing the murderer had hell to pay. Because he could see it in colours and emotions, and Kenny was so _red_ that day.

Sure enough, his uncle didn’t care that the bounty called for catching the man alive. He wasn’t a hunter back then, after all. Kenny shot him between the eyes. It’s one of the few things Levi respects him for, to this day.

Why Kenny has put together a crew to hunt criminals is beyond him though, and Levi’s not going to pretend to comprehend Kenny‘s madness. Perhaps in Levi‘s absence he didn’t know what else to do, but to be honest, Levi doesn’t care for his uncle’s reasons. Well he wouldn’t, if Kenny wasn’t hunting _him._

And still. And still, it’s Erwin Smith that bothers him more. Perhaps this is the end of Levi Ackerman. Gone, by Smith’s hands. Levi’s so tired, he can’t remember if this is a bad thing or not.

Over the slope, the sands stir in the soft breeze. It makes the horizon looks hazy, though that may be the heat, causing the ground to ebb and flow like the waves off the South coast. Distantly, Levi remembers that’s where he was headed. It feels like such a hollow, empty goal now.

Something breaks the waves. Small, black, maybe a little boat. Levi blinks. It’s a hat.

Levi thrashes in the water - a dead, useless fish. He finally finds his feet and is about to climb out when the rider appears, looking down the slope, head hung against the harsh sun. Levi stands, motionless, as they stare eachother down. The man is fucking huge. Mike.

He watches, eagle eyed, the hand Mike raises. No gun.

No gun? Mike brings his fingers to his lips and whistles, sharp and intent.

A woman skids to a stop on his left. She’s got a short blonde cut, leaving her hostile face in full view. Mike wears his resent with a smile.

Smith appears next, perfectly poised and proud atop a pure white horse. But his eyes don’t match. These look stern as ever. And the pull of his brows - that’s concern.

His appearance kickstarts Levi’s muscles, like the old cars Kenny used to fix, and he scrambles out the water, sprinting for his horse as soon his his feet hit the sand. He leaps on and kicks.

Levi doesn’t bother climbing the bank. He heads straight on and past the lake. The ground is softer here, hooves slipping into the sand. With any luck, the bulkier riders will sink and slow. The pounding of pursuit is muffled in the sand, but with three riders on his tail, it may as well be an army.

Not a kilometre later, his mare stumbles. Levi feels her shaking, every taught muscle pulled ready to snap. But Levi can still hear Smith, thud thud thud, a constant pulse. He’ll hear it when he’s sleeping. It’ll chase him through his dreams.

His horse staggers to a trot. Levi squeezes his eyes tight, as though he shares in her pain. Perhaps his guilt hurts just as much.

Levi pulls his knife from his boot and grits his teeth. He clenches the hilt. He takes a breath.

He plunges the knife into her flank. In and out, as quick as possible. Warm blood covers the skin up to his wrist. She shoots forward with renewed muster.

The rising sun is getting closer. Levi thinks if they keep this up, he’ll soon be able to reach out and touch it. Sunny smile, his mother had.

There’s a guttural pop that splits the air. Levi dares a glance back, and the puff of dust a few dozen metres away marks the bullet‘s landing. Smith is still too far away. But they’re gaining. They’re definitely gaining.

Levi grips the reins and leans forward, as if that will help any. It doesn’t. Thud thud thud. The hooves are at war with his heartbeat.

Another pop. He feels the reverb. His horse whinnies. Levi pats her warm shoulder. Her shaking rattles his bones.

The next pop goes off like a shotgun shell, tearing the ground to pieces. Levi’s pony startles, and then she collapses.

Her front legs go out first, and Levi is thrown off hard. His ribs grind together as he lands with a heavy thud. Levi’s horse lands on her side, but he can’t get up and go to her. He stares into her dark eyes as they lie side by side.

Down here, in the sands, Levi feels every thud all the way to his core. It shakes his skull and steals the breath from his lungs. And then it all comes to a sudden, dreadful stop.

Levi crawls to his knees, energy only found from the desire to not be scraped off the ground by a Bounty Hunter. Erwin Smith, nonetheless. He reaches back to his heel, out of sight from the riders, and grips his knife behind his back.

Smith does him the courtesy of dismounting when he greets Levi. It makes no difference ; he’s still towering, head in the clouds. 

Smith looks down at him with pity on his face. It isn’t fair. This would all be easier if Smith was angry, vengeful. Violent.

But he’s not red like Kenny. When Levi looks up at Smith’s eyes, they’re so blue. Like the lake. He remembers the relaxing chill and calming water.

And when Smith speaks, it’s not what Levi would expect.

“I can help you, Levi.“

The disbelief must shine from his face, bright as a beacon. Smith frowns at him.

“Running isn’t any good, Levi, you know I’ll be after you. So I’m asking you to give it up. Don’t do this to yourself. It’s over, Levi.”

And he keeps saying it. Again and again. Levi Levi _Levi_. Like it’s worth saying, like it doesn’t taint his mouth.

“I bet you say that to all of them.“

“It’s their choice wether they comply or not. But look, Levi. The bail charge is a fraction of what your bounty’s worth. I could pay it, after you’ve served for a while. I could get you out.”

Against everything, Levi shakes his head, almost laughs. All he chokes out though, is “why?”

“I pity those who don’t get a second chance. And look at you - you could do some good. You really could, Levi.”

The laugh finally squeezes from his lungs. It sounds more like a horrible wheeze. Levi can’t put his cynicism into words, so he tries for an amused sneer. Erwin Smith is absurd.

He narrows those brows at Levi, and he has the audacity to look completely earnest. “I’ve taken down so many criminals. I know which of them are evil, and which are just trying to get by. I see it their eyes. I see it in yours.“

What does he see? Does he see the desperation clawing at Levi‘s skin, the combustion of his own conviction? Does he see Levi‘s absolute need to be saved from the disintegration of himself?

Levi’s sure he’s not wearing it all on his face. But when it comes to Smith, he’s no longer sure about much at all.

“You don’t have to run anymore. Come with me, Levi.”

And it’s awful, really, because Levi wants to. All he’s ever wanted in life is to _be_ someone. To be someone people will wait on to come home, to stay up if he’s been gone to long, or to think of when he’s not in the room. But there’s no one left for him. No one left to make him a _person_. He feels himself fading. Another soul lost without existence.

But Smith is interested in him, almost fascinated, in something other than the money he can rake in. Levi sees it in the way Smith’s eyes solder as he runs his mouth. He hears it in the way Smith says _come with me_ instead of _us_. Whether that be from cruel obsession or to check another name off his criminal bucket list - Smith is interested in him. And for however long that may last, it makes Levi a person that still _exists._

Levi grasps onto it will all his remaining strength. He drops his blade to the ground. It sticks up like a knife in butter. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Smith blinks, then quickly collects himself. Levi watches the dirt. He doesn’t want to meet Smith’s eyes ; this is giving in. “Your - _our_ \- horse needs a break. You’ll ride with me.”

Levi watches Mike pull a cord from his pocket and stride over to him. He looks a little confused, but that burns off his face when Levi vehemently scowls at him. Mike meets his gaze with animosity to rival. Smith wordlessly takes the cord from his friend and moves to Levi instead.

Levi stills as Smith reaches for his wrists and ties them with careful detachment. Levi’s abrasion takes a dip when it’s Smith who’s binding his hands, but he doesn’t care to think too hard on it. Mike looks torn between anger, frustration, and inquisition. Levi envies his energy to feel so many emotions.

Smith isn’t the smallest out of his small group - that goes to the woman - but for some reason he chooses Levi to share his horse anyway, as though he knows Levi would refuse to ride with the unfamiliar woman. Smith is right though, for some reason.

Levi hops into the stirrups without protest - he really can’t manage that sort of effort - but he is insistent on getting onto the mare without help. It doesn’t work of course, with his hands bound and all. Smith pushes past and gets on first, then breaks his care of no-touching to grab Levi’s shoulder, and albeit gently, haul him up.

Levi settles in the front of the saddle and smoulders in his internal annoyance. He almost snipes at Smith about how he grabbed his bad shoulder, the one Smith shot himself, but that would be a little _too_ childish. Levi does wish he could cross his arms, though. It makes sulking more obvious.

Smith reaches around him and picks up the reigns. They set off, and Levi thinks it must be a great effort for Smith to sit so far back on the saddle, barely brushing Levi’s back, and still keep control of his horse. Levi tells himself he is so not thankful for the gesture. Get a grip ; Smith is practically delivering him to his cell.

But he told Levi that he deserves to live. Levi believed him. For good or for worse, Smith is now where his conviction lies.

Levi fidgets in his handcuffs as he’s ushered down the hallway. If he stops shifting, his wrists he won’t get blisters, but trying to break his restraints is a nervous habit. The guards behind him are breathing down his neck. Everyone else only gets one guard. Two’s a bit excessive, don’t they think?

Prison has always been a possibility in Levi’s line of work, but he used to feel unstoppable with his partners by his side, and never really believed he’d end up behind bars. Izzy worried the most, though. They’d worked so hard after all, they didn’t want to believe they deserved it.

He recalls their conversation before the last heist. Before they were ambushed, and caught in a showdown of a lifetime. 

_“This is the last one, Izzy. We‘ll get the money, collect the rest from the bank, and then we’re gone.“_

Well, he’d been right about one thing. That was their last robbery. Losing Isabel and Farlan was like being hit by the truck of reality. 

He’s guided towards a short man with thinning hair, looking sick of his dull job. The man perks up when Levi stops at his desk, shuffling some papers.

“Levi Ackerman, twenty-seven. That correct?” Levi nods once.

“Honestly didn’t expect to see you here. I wagered that they wouldn’t be able to catch you.“

“Well then, I hope you lost a lost of money.“

The man sneers at him, but waves him ahead.

The guards don’t take a step back until they reach an empty cell and motion him inside. Levi has to steal himself to move his feet. He clenches his fingers into fists, raw skin against metal, and steps behind the bars.

This is it. Imprisoned, of his own accord.

Six months, Smith said. In six months they’ll let bail be paid. Levi can start over. A second chance. Would Smith guide him, after he gets Levi out?

One of the guards comes forward to unlock his cuffs. He grips Levi’s wrists like he’s got an altercation with him. Not careful, like Smith was.

Levi shakes his head and settles on the threadbare cot. He runs his hands through the short strands at the back of his neck, and leans against the stone wall. The door slams shut.

It’s funny. He’s in prison, but Levi hasn’t been so well fed in weeks, and so clean in months. And now, finally alone and quiet, his mind’s as clear as a goddamned whistle.

Levi thinks of Smith and his velvet words, assessing gaze, and witty mind. He’d picked up on Levi’s weakness, his moment of desperation. He told Levi what he wanted to hear.

Levi tightens his grip and yanks, hard.

Smith isn’t coming to bail him out.


	2. vendetta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smith is going to _pay_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialect in this fic is horrifically inconsistent and probs cringe. Sorry •~•

“Get out.”

Levi looks up from the floor he’s scrubbing. A guard unlocks the barred door.

“Some fucker paid your bail.” The guard motions behind him, quick and impatient. “Out.”

“Who?” The mop creaks where Levi clenches the wood.

“The fuck would I know? If you’re so eager to stay, I’ll let them know.”

Levi abandons the mop to the bucket and strides out of his cell. It’s been just six months since he arrived, and though they might have been some of the worst months of his life, he feels no elation at his freedom. Whoever’s waiting for him can’t be good news.

Nosey prisoners eye him through their bars as he’s escorted down the corridor of cells. He pays them no mind, too busy trying to figure out what in God’s name is going on.

They stop at the front desk. A woman gets up when she sees him and shuffles through the shelves in the back room. She emerges with a bundle of cloth.

“Sorry honey, we had to chuck the shirt. Wasn’t much left of it, anyway. The rest of your clothes aren’t too bad if you’d like to change.”

Levi nods, reaches for his clothes, and then freezes. The hollow tap of boots echoes down the hall. They’re headed straight for him.

“Don’t bother with those ratty scraps. I brought you a change from home.”

Levi’s blood stops short in his veins. He curls his fingers and digs them into his flesh. One breath. Two. Three. He fights his body into turning around and glares at Kenny like he could stake him through the heart.

“You have three seconds to explain.” The screech of his teeth is audible.

“What’re you gonna do, Levi? Kill me, and you’re going straight back to your cell.”

Fucking Kenny. After all this time, he still underestimates Levi.

He makes for Kenny, claws raised, ready to grip him around his ugly neck and _squeeze_ until the skin turns a bloodless white. 

Kenny’s hands fly in front of his chest as he steps back, and the guard fills the space between them. Levi’s about to tackle the guard, he really is, but Kenny opens his fat mouth again.

“Look kid, I’m not here for trouble. I jus’ couldn’t let you rot in prison if I wasn’t the one who put you there. It was bitin’ at my ass the whole time.”

Levi drags his hands back down and clenches his slacks. The guard looks wary, but eventually retreats. Levi glares at Kenny to continue.

“Truce, for now?” Levi glances at his uncle’s offered hand and decides he’d rather eat his own shit than shake it. Kenny grins at whatever sour look clouds his face. “I’ll be after you again sometime, don’t you worry. For now, I need a break. They don’t tell you all that bounty hunting bullshit is real hard work.”

Kenny really is an unpredictable bastard. His polar moods make Levi’s head ache. It‘s surprising he didn’t run away sooner.

“Clothes.” Levi holds out his hands. Kenny opens a leather sack and pulls out some items. Sure enough, Levi recognises them from his time back in Virginia ; all these years later and he hasn’t grown an inch.

He snatches the bundle and heads for the bathroom. On his way, he stops at the desk and picks up his old hat that the woman retrieved.

Though Levi won’t admit it, he’s grateful to finally have his jacket back. He hasn’t worn the thing since he was eighteen, but the supple smell and soft leather are a welcome comfort.

He finishes changing, dumps his uniform in the laundry, and pulls on his boots. Something’s still missing: his knife.

At the front desk, Levi asks for it back.

“I’m sorry,” the woman says, though she doesn’t much look it, “unless another family member collects it, all weapons remain in our custody.”

Levi waits a few beats - ready to snap - before Kenny steps forward. “I’ll take it. Used to be mine, anyways.”

He watches Kenny sign, already itching to get out of the darned place, and sighs when he finally holds the familiar hilt. He slips it inside his boot.

They walk out the entrance, side by side. It’s a strange feeling, and Levi wonders if Kenny notices. They haven’t been civil in years.

“I’ll drop you off anywhere, but I ain’t drivin’ more than a couple hours.” Kenny veers towards a terracotta pickup parked half on the sidewalk. It’s the only truck on the damn street.

“Take me to my bank.”

“Where?”

“Salt Lake.” Levi’s never done the trip from Vegas - the first time him being here, actually (not a pleasant introduction) - but he’s sure it’ll take more than a few hours, even with a car. He’s far from excited to spend more than a minute with Kenny, but he doesn’t have much of a choice.

“Testing your luck, kid. I live on the West coast now, so this’ll be the longest detour of my life.”

“You were going to kill me six months ago.”

“Alright, alright. Get it in the damn car.”

They don’t make it five minutes before Kenny stops to charge the truck’s battery in a repurposed gas station. The atmosphere is already suffocating. How Levi is going to make it to Salt Lake, he hasn’t a clue.

Kenny climbs back in, and they’re off. The chugging engine fills the silence, so there’s that at least. He hasn’t had a real conversation with his uncle in ten years ; Levi thinks it still too early to try.

Besides, he’s got Smith on the mind again. It’s been a long time since Levi’s been busy cursing the man back to hell ; the only way to stop combusting from his anger was to not think of Smith at all.

But Levi can feel it rising again, the yellow embers before the fire. Getting bailed from prison has stoked the flame. Soon, Levi will become a pyre.

“I know that look, kid. Whoever you’re after has hell to pay.”

Levi shifts his feet on the dash and turns his gaze to the other window.

“It’s Smith, right? That uptight bastard won’t know what hit him.” Levi can’t stop the brief snort that escapes him. Shooting the bull about arrogant assholes used to be a pastime of theirs. Levi might’ve actually missed it. 

The ride takes half a day. The sun’s already dipping when the city’s in sight, turning the lakes into pools of blood. Levi imagines Smith lying by the water, dying it scarlet from a wound Levi created. He shuffles anxiously in his seat, anticipation raw.

Salt Lake City is one of the few major towns that survived. Levi recalls something about how the mountains trap the moisture, preventing the lakes from shrinking with drought. He doesn’t care much for the city, only his money stashed within it.

They pull up to a street corner housing the bank, and when Levi hops out, Kenny follows suit. Striding down the isle, he ignores the curious stares. He stops at the final unoccupied desk.

“Levi Ackerman.”

“Evenin’, Mr. Ackerman,” a yellow-haired lady replies. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanna withdraw my money.”

“How much, Sir?”

“All of it.”

She lifts her brows but quickly stands to collect some papers. He rattles off the security answers as Kenny taps his foot at an irritating pace (it’s not like he has to stay here.)

“All correct. I’ll bring ‘round your cash.”

She returns surprisingly fast. The cloth bag in her hand is tiny - much too tiny for the ten years Levi and his friends had been theiving.

“Where’s the rest?”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but that’s all there is.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

She purses her lips and squints through long lashes. “The records say most of the cash was withdrawn last month. Perhaps you gave a friend or family member your details? They must be close to you, to be able to answer the security questions.”

“I didn’t give no one permission -“ Levi’s voice sticks when he notices Kenny has stopped tapping his foot. He whirls around. “Where’s my money, Kenny?”

“Someone had to pay your bail. It wasn’t going to be me.”

Levi almost squares him in the jaw. Almost. Instead he clenches his fists and huffs through his nose like a bull. He shouldn’t really have presumed that Kenny would dip into his own pockets, after all.

“Fine.” Levi snatches the bag from the desk and storms off. After a few steps he halts and grunts out a “G’day.”

Outside, Levi kicks Kenny’s tire.

“Nice one, kid. I’m sure the tire is crying.”

Levi spins and jabs a finger at Kenny’s face. “Shut up.”

Then to the right, just under Kenny’s ear, he sees the banker woman jog out the entrance. She waves at Levi to stay where he is.

“Mr. Ackerman, there was something else left in your name.”

“I don’t have nothin’ else,” he says, but he can’t keep the curiosity from lifting his words.

“Six months ago,” she reads from a curling parchment, “Mr. Smith left you a horse. He sent it here, said we should keep hold of her.”

Levi already knows it’s the one he stole. Still doesn’t make any sense, though. “She would’ve died by the time my sentence was over.”

Kenny snorts. “A thoughtful just-in-case?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not grateful.” But he _is_ really, really happy to have her.

He follows the woman around the corner to a small stable. Levi spots her instantly, his chestnut mare, snorting under the summer heat. She kicks at the ground distastefully. Some things never change.

The woman is taking too long with the gate, so Levi hops the fence and walks over to his horse. She looks up at his approach, and Levi wishes he had some apples.

“Hey,” he reaches up to stroke the star between her ears. “Why’s he left you with me, huh?”

She snuffles into his elbow. Yeah, he’s not sure either.

Levi ties the cash bag to her saddle and turns to Kenny. “I won’t be needing a lift back.”

“Good. Didn’t feel like driving you anyway.”

Levi nods to the woman. She retreats to the bank.

He starts making stock in his head of the supplies he’ll need for the upcoming trip. Kenny’s still standing there once he’s finished the list.

“What d’you want?”

“I got somethin’ in the trunk for you. Before you leave.”

“Alright. Let’s make this quick.”

He unties the reigns and follows Kenny back out the gate. His horse trots ahead of him down the street ; there was probably no one to take her out in these past six months.

Levi doesn’t know what he was expecting Kenny to give him, but it certainly wasn’t this. When he opens the trunk of the pickup, a flinty glare sparks off two metallic objects, long and sharp. He hasn’t seen his swords in years.

He leans in and strokes along the cool steel. They’re sharpened to perfection. Levi remembers the evenings he spent in front of the fire, running a stone over the blades’ edge. He never though he’d see them again. His fingers tingle.

“How long have you had them?” Levi asks, not turning from the swords.

“Took them with me to the West Coast after you left. I haven’t ever used ‘em.”

Levi nods. He doesn’t pick them up yet, afraid the power he feels when yielding them will cause him to lash out at anything that moves. He hones all thought on Smith’s pretty face and grabs them by the hilt.

Kenny points into the dark of the trunk. “The sheath is at the back.”

Levi feels around for leather and pulls out the harness. It takes a bit of work to fasten the straps over his chest and around his shoulders - a little uncomfortable due to years out of practice - but the fit is snug and the bite reassuring. He raises the swords over his head and slips them blade first into the sheaths between his shoulders.

“I’m - uhh, glad to have them back.”

“Yeah. No problem, kid.” They stare at each other. Kenny scratches his neck. “Well, I best get going.”

“Okay. See you ‘round.”

“Between you and me, Levi, I darn well hope you don’t.”

He watches Kenny jump back into his pickup and drive away. Levi doesn’t move until the truck disappears around the corner. He turns back to his horse and retrieves her reigns. “Right then. Let’s go.”

They walk down the street under the tangerine sky, casting long shadows stretching all the way to the sidewalk. It takes a while to find a shop that isn’t boarded shut.

The green shopfront appears to be an old grocery store turned all-round supplies. He ties his horse to a rusting lamppost, collects his cash bag, and heads inside. A bell dingles and the boy at the counter perks up.

“Evening, Sir. Anything you’re after?”

“A map.” He scans the shelves behind the counter. “And a couple bottles of water.”

“What state map, Sir? We’ve got everywhere South of Idaho.” Levi racks his brain for any previous knowledge he’s heard about Erwin Smith, and any bits of information he’d picked up on his journey to prison. Smith was careful as ever when responding to his crewmates, and Levi was only half-conscious on the front of the horse, but he’d learnt enough. “I’ll have whatever state Sante Fe is in.”

The boy nods and shuffles around the shelves. He drops the map on the counter along with the water.

“Hey, d’you happen to have a sack, by any chance? I’ve got nothin’ to carry this shit in.”

“Uh,” the boy’s head snaps around the room. “Yeah! We should have one in the back room. We’ve got no use for it anymore.”

He rushes in and out and rings up the total. Levi hands him the cash and stuffs the bottles into the sack, leaving out the map to have a read. He hops into the saddle and unfolds the paper.

Smith lives in Sante Fe - the last he’d heard, anyway. Being a hunter means he probably moves around, but Smith said Levi was his last job. Then again, Smith is a compulsive liar and could be playing poker in New York right now.

It’s no matter ; Levi will keep searching until he finds him. Hunting Smith has become his sole purpose.

Once Levi’s sure he’s on route, he tucks away the map and nudges his pony to pick up the pace. This is going to be a long journey, but imagining the many ways he can gut Smith will be ample distraction.

Over time Bounty Hunters have become the law themselves. They bring justice and deliver punishment of there own accord, though this carries with it an important loophole ; by choosing to put themselves in danger, the law does not protect them. Levi could hack Smith limb from limb and no one would have the right to arrest him.

He trots down the highway and clenches his shoulders, relishing the bite of the hilts and the pull of his straps. Trusting Smith had provided Levi with an obtuse learning curve, but at least the man has taught him this: hate is a very weak word.

Sante Fe looks nothing like it does on the map ; even the two dimensional diagram appears more grand than this tumbleweed ghost-town.

As Levi summits the dune overlooking the city, signs of life begin to emerge amongst wooden shacks and swaying clothes lines. A group of bustling figures gather in the central square, kicking up dust with their dancing and games. It’s been a while since he’s seen a town with so many children. Levi’s not sure he’s cruel enough to bring a child into this world.

He raises a hand to rid his brow of sweat and reaches back for a sword. The blade sings as it’s freed from its sheath. Levi holds it by his side and kicks off down the slope.

He charges town in a hurricane of sand, fire, and fury. The townspeople see his approach ; a bell chimes and people come rushing, crowding the square but keeping close to their homes.

Levi gallops straight through the main street and brings his sword up high. When he reaches the square, he yanks on the reigns. His horse rears back on her hind legs. Once they land he pulls her in a tight circle and surveys the chittering people. Levi points the blade at each of the frontliners in turn.

“Erwin Smith! Come out you faithless bastard!”

The square lapses into rushed hisses. A woman pulls her children behind her legs.

“Tell me where he is!” Levi points his blade at the closest man. “Or is he too coward to face me?”

No one speaks. No one moves. Levi strides to the edge of the crowd and makes a slow circle. Everyone takes a step back as he passes.

“You’re protectin’ a lyin’ heathen. Have none of you got no shame?”

This shivering crowd have done him no wrongs. But Smith is here. Or he was here - it’s like the town is covered in faint traces of treachery, lies and deceit. They poison his lungs and sharpen his rage. Smith will look upon his blade and beg for mercy.

“Levi! Still stirring up trouble I see.”

Levi reels around. He stares down the street, hushed and deserted, lined with crooked buildings. Here stands a man, smiling and proud. Here stands a man, perfectly poised.

Here stands Erwin Smith, hands wide and open as though greeting an old friend. At his back stand four hunters, ready but not for a fight - a silent threat. Levi draws his second sword and holds them by his sides.

“I see prison hasn’t changed you. It seems you’re more volatile than ever.” Smith retracts his hands, palms facing outwards. “I suppose I should have known.”

“No,” is all Levi manages to grunt out. He clenches his thighs. His pony shifts.

“No?” Mocking.

“No, you shouldn’t have known better, ‘cause you don’t know me. You don’t know me at all, Smith.”

“Well, it appears that _you_ didn’t know me all that well either.”

Whatever point Smith is trying to prove, whatever he gains from riling Levi up, he ignores it all. Smith can scoff at him from hell for all that he cares ; Levi will shove his blade down his throat before the man can smirk one more damned time.

He kicks, hard. He charges onwards, blades outstretched, uncaring for his abandoned reigns. The ground thunders and the dust churns but Levi only has vision for one man.

Here, Smith will die today.

The metres dwindle. Levi stands in the saddle, an impossible feet, but drive and rage and burning hatred provide ungodly inspiration.

At the last second, Levi leaps.

He aims his blades to a point and dives towards Smith’s chest. Steel on steel, an extraordinary yowl - Smith parries with a knife the size of his forearm. Levi rolls left and kicks his feet. Smith’s shins give out as he collapses next to Levi. They struggle to get up.

Levi’s quicker. He straddles Smith at the waist and crosses his swords, driving down with every strained muscle. Smith brings his dagger to his chest, countering the swords, and pushes up. 

Levi pictures every hour he spent combusting in his shitty cell and presses down with all his weight. The swords touch skin. Smith’s cheeks well scarlet under his blades.

There’s a squeak, a million miles away. It calls again, and when the sound breaks through the pounding in his veins, Levi recognises a panicked shout. He eases in a moment of hesistation. Smith moves.

This is it. Levi’s blown his chance, and Smith’ll get the upper hand.

But instead Smith turns his head left, to the distant shout that isn’t far away at all. A woman’s saying something but Levi keeps his gaze on Smith.

Then fire, white and searing, charrs through his leg, and all of a sudden it’s Smith’s knife that’s keeping him upright. Levi whips his head in the direction of the gunshot.

Cresting the hill stand a dozen black-clad figures. That’s all he sees before Smith’s grabbing his shoulder and pulling Levi’s body beneath his. The blades clatter to the earth.

The sky erupts in gunfire.

Someone’s returning shots on his left. Must be Smith’s crew. His pony whinnies, but at least that means she’s still alive. Behind them wails an incessant screaming, broken up by slamming doors. It’s all background noise to his burning thigh and the crushing weight pinning him down.

Levi starts hitting Smith’s shoulder. _Up_ he wants to scream. _Fucking get up._ But he’s already rising, dragged by heavy hands around his waist. He spins amidst the barrage in search of his horse. Then he sees Smith, pulling her by the reigns and races to grab her. His leg collapses immediately. Levi writhes in the dust.

The ground explodes by his elbow, then again at his ear. Levi rolls to escape the bullets. The movement digs grit into his wound and he dry-heaves into the dirt.

Flying again. Levi’s upside down this time, his face buried in the small of Smith’s back. He’s deposited in his saddle as Smith climbs on behind.

It’s not like when they first rode together ; this time Smith coils his arms around Levi’s shoulders to keep him on, chest pressed close. Levi wants to boot him off backwards but he’s more concerned about the ceaseless gunfire.

Smith shouts something to his crew. Levi doesn’t hear what, though they seem to get the memo. They retreat behind a shack and return on horseback. Smith yanks on the reigns and they’re leading the way through town, away from the shooters.

The bandits burst into uproar behind them. Something like _’fucking Smith.’_ Smith doesn’t call back. He doesn’t even turn around. Instead Smith grips Levi’s wrist - which tenses under his touch - and presses Levi’s hand to his bloody thigh.

“Keep pressure,“ he commands into Levi’s ear.

“Why?” Levi asks. He means to ask _why are you helping me. Why aren‘t I back there, rolling around in my own blood._

Smith doesn’t grant him a response. Levi changes tact. “Who?” He grunts, nodding towards the persuing riders.

“Local bandits. I believe I captured their leader a while ago.”

“Won’t you engage?”

“They’re only chasing us out of town. Sante Fe is their turf. It seems our stay was overdue.”

Levi doesn’t understand Smith‘s play at pacifism. The way Levi’s learnt it, if you let your enemies have one over on you, they’ll only come back to bite you later.

Turning in Smith‘s grip, Levi spares one last look at the shrinking town. He concentrates on the heavy pounding of his mare‘s strides to distract him from this godawful, twisted fate.

Levi wakes in an empty room, though he doesn’t remember passing out. He lies atop a faded bed sheet, his skin itching with the knowledge that this is someone else’s room, but the threadbare carpet looks clean enough and there’s no incriminating stains on the covers.

He pulls down his trousers to inspect his thigh. The bullet only scraped his leg. The graze is neatly stitched with ivory threads. Who dared undress him to tend his wounds? He ignores the thought in favour of cursing himself for being knocked out by just a scratch.

Vanilla candles burn above a chest of draws. Did he sleep though the entire day? Levi jerks around to the curtained window and yanks them open. Dusk is still settling over the desert. There’s no more buildings as far as he can see ; either he’s on the edge of town, or Smith took them to some isolated crack house.

The lack of metal cuffs biting his wrists is a confusing absence. Levi’s hairs bristle and his stomach churns. 

His swords are also noticeably missing. Levi hauls himself out of bed and retrieves his boots, tucked in the corner. Gone too is the knife from his boot sheath. Thieving bastard.

There’s no other sharp objects in sight, so he starts rifling through the draws. Inside the desk, second draw to the left, is a long silver letter opener. It’ll have to do.

The bedroom door is well oiled but the floorboards creak like hell. Levi slips off his boots once more and starts down the corridor. He makes it past only three doors before voices pick up behind the fourth.

Levi leans close to the door kept open ajar and surveys the room. Mike gestures angrily at Smith, who rests his hands on the table with a constipated look. The scowling blonde joins the argument, though the final hunter with flaming hair sits scribbling in a notebook, apathetic to the discussion. Levi studies them, narrowing his eyes.

Once he’s sure they’re all busy interrupting eachother, Levi shoves open the door. His bare feet pound the floorboards as he charges Smith, meagre weapon raised and shaking.

A solid mass blocks his path in an instant. The wall is unyielding.

He claws at Mike‘s arms but the man grabs his flailing hands and twists them back. Levi burns through the pain and jabs his knee between Mike‘s legs. He doesn‘t budge, but his grip loosens for half a second.

Levi dives for Smith. Jabbing out the letter opener, he stabs down in a blur towards Smith‘s throat. His arms comes to a jarring halt.

He’s done it. The point is embedded in Smith‘s neck.

Except it isn’t. Smith has him by the wrists, grip squeezing a vice and draining all the blood from his fingers. Levi drops his gaze to his weapon and finds the tiny point has barely grazed Smith‘s neck.

His feet drag across the floor as he’s shoved back into the wall. Smith doesn’t cease his force when the wall creaks behind Levi’s body. He drags Levi’s hands up beside his head and squeezes and _squeezes_ until his fingers unfurl. The letter opener clatters to the ground in quiet defeat.

“Levi, cut it out.“

Levi kicks and scratches at all exposed skin. He will not give Smith the satisfaction of winning a second time.

“Stop it.“

He won’t.

“Have you no self respect? You’re fighting like a dog.“

Footsteps rise in the hallway and a group of teenagers burst through the door. Smith doesn’t turn. His grip impossibly tightens.

“Fuck you, Smith.“

“Prison hasn’t changed you at all, has it? I had hope for you.“

”Prison _made_ me this.“

“You mean _I_ made you this.“ Smith looks down at him with disdain.

“I’ll kill you.“

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“If you want to act like a child, I’ll treat you like one.”

Levi grits his teeth. “You want to know what’s childish? Lying to get your own fucking way.”

“Petty grudges don’t suit you, Levi. You’re free now. Don’t throw your life away chasing me.”

Life? Levi nearly laughs. He has no life anymore. It’s as though Smith hears his thoughts ; his face softens, brows drifting apart. He takes a step back.

“Sit down. You’re still healing.”

“I’m fine.” Levi shifts his feet.

“You’re not, actually. If you tear your stitches, killing Erwin won’t be so easy.” 

Levi shoots a glare at the bookworm who’s finally looking up from their scribbling. They grin at Levi. A challenge?

“I’m no pansy, four eyes.”

Smith nods to Mike and the man starts towards him. Levi jerks back but there’s nowhere to go. Mike makes a grab for his shoulders.

“Hey, don’t fucking touch me.” Mike rolls his eyes and swoops Levi off his feet, balancing him atop his giant shoulder. Levi slaps at his face to no avail. They parade out of the room, the stupid kids ogling him on their way past.

Mike takes him to a room down the hall, dumping him on a dark couch before stomping to the door. Before he leaves, he turns to a boy frozen by the oak shelf, hand midway to a book. Mike points at Levi and states, “Keep watch on him, Armin.”

The boy squeaks out a _yessir_ as the door locks with decisive click.

“Uh, Mr. Ackerman. Sir. Hello.” Armin turns from the shelf and thrusts out his hand. Levi looks down at the offered palm before returning his gaze to Armin. The boy’s face scrunches, shaking his head and muttering an apology.

“Right...” Levi says, shifting on the couch. 

“I’ll just be over here. In my chair.” Armin trips over the coffee table.

“You scared of me, kid? I don’t bite - unless your name’s Smith.”

Armin hurries to open a book and begins to read. It’s upside down. Levi observes his curious blue eyes and shock of blonde hair, and pulls his brows together. “It’s not, is it?”

“What, Smith? No sir. It’s Alert. Armin Arlert.”

Levi nods. He’s got half a mind to break down the door and scour the house for his stolen swords, but his leg throbs just as much as his pounding headache. There’s no point attacking again until he’s regained full strength. And besides, a head-on approach won’t seem to cut it. Levi will have to wait Smith out and attack with surprise.

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Oh, me?” There’s no one else in the room. “I’m sixteen, Sir.”

“Sixteen, huh? Smith sure recruits young.”

“Well you see, mine and my friends’ village was pillaged three years ago. Our parents were killed during the raid, but Erwin captured the criminals and found us hiding. He took us in but won’t let us hunt until we’re sixteen. Mikasa and I are waiting for Eren’s birthday.”

Levi flicks his gaze around the room while the boy’s talking. There’s a window latched shut, though jumping out won’t do much good when Smith’s on the inside. There’s no sharp objects in sight either. It’s like someone has hidden everything with a pointed edge away, preparing for a child’s visit. 

“Say, Armin. You seem like a smart kid,” he’s not even putting on the flattery. The boy speaks very educated, a bit like Smith. “D’you have any idea why Smith’s helping me out? I mean, what am I doin’ here and all?”

Armin closes his book and turns in his chair. “He’s not the type to just let someone die, I suppose. He completed his task in capturing you, so it won’t be any benefit to show you animosity now.”

“There ain’t no way he doesn’t hate me.”

“Hate you? I don’t think so, Levi - sir. He’s intense, sure, and if I didn’t respect him so much I’d be terrified of him. But he’s a good man. That’s for sure.”

“What’d he do to earn that?”

“My fear, or my respect?”

A valid question. Levi’s only interested in one. “How can you respect a cheatin’ liar?”

“Are we talking about your capture, sir?” This kid isn’t half-witted at all. “If he lied to you, it was probably for your own benefit. If you ran any longer you would’ve gotten yourself killed. You, or another crew who don’t take their bounties alive.”

Levi scowls and picks at the fraying edge of a cushion. Armin offers a lopsided smile. “Well, you’re here now, aren’t you? If I were to give you some advice, I’d say take what Erwin offers. He’s shown an interest in you, and he’ll want to help you. You should let him.”

“I didn’t ask for advice.” Levi folds his leg over the other and crosses his arms. The position pulls at his stitches, but he keeps his expression flat.

A pounding at the door breaks through the stunted silence. Levi definitely doesn’t startle. Armin flies from his chair.

“Hey, Armin, let us in! Food for the prisoner.”

Levi glares daggers at the shaking door. Armin glances back at him, but Levi shrugs. “I’m not going anywhere.” Yet.

Armin nods and hurries to the door. When he unlocks it, a wild boy bursts in.

“Armin, I can’t believe Mike left you alone in here!” His green eyes whip to Levi as a girl enters behind him. She holds Armin’s shoulders and squints at his face.

“He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” Armin shoots a glance back to the couch and shakes his head aggressively.

“Hey, Eren! Stop blockin’ the fuckin’ doorway!”

The room is suffocating once all the kids make it inside. Will the constant stream of them ever end? He eyes the window with renewed motivation.

A skinhead with a tray of food ambles towards the couch. He stops a way in front of Levi - an arm’s length.

“Erwin said you ain’t eaten in a while. Brought you some food.” Levi glares at the offending bread and cheese.

“I won’t eat it.”

The girl drops Armin’s shoulders, leaning against the door and giving him a once-over. “Really? You look pale as hell.”

Levi switches his legs. “Did I ask for an observation, brat?”

She kicks off the door and clenches her fists.

“Calm it, Mikasa. You heard the boss. He’s volatile.”

“I can take him. Eren, stay back.”

Levi draws his brows up his head. “‘Scuse me, kiddo, but I don’t remember shovin’ a stick up your ass.”

The lanky boy lounging in the corner snorts. “Hey, I wouldn’t go underestimating her, Ackerman.”

Levi snaps his head around. “What the fuck are you lot doin’ in here, anyway?”

“Food,” says the boy still holding the tray.

A girl with a rusty ponytail hops on the arm of his couch. “If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it!” She makes a grab for the tray but isn’t quick enough. “Connie, give it ‘ere! He said he don’t want it!”

“No, Sasha! Boss gave us orders. He’ll be angry if the crook doesn’t eat it.”

Mikasa stomps her foot on the floor. The boards hardly creek. “What does Erwin think he’s doing, keeping him here? We should just bind his eyes and throw him in the desert.”

Levi’s headache pounds tenfold. “Just you fuckin’ try it.”

A rumbling brings the room to silence. It’s epicentre is Levi’s stomach.

Six pairs of eyes flick to the couch. Levi snatches the tray from Connie’s hands and dumps it on the cushion beside him. “Out, all of you!”

They shuffle out the room, all apart from Mikasa. Eren has to uproot her by the shoulders. He slams the door behind them.

When Levi looks up, the room’s not as empty as he presumed. Armin is crouched back in his chair by the window. He looks at Levi, half smile, half grimace. “Erwin said not to leave you alone.”

Levi sighs and sinks back into the sofa. Of all the brats, he supposes Armin is the least annoying. He pulls the tray onto his lap, picking up a chunk of bread and pointing it at the boy.

“Don’t even fuckin’ think about telling him.” Levi waits to receive a small nod before digging in.

Evening falls through the window in bronze and peach beams. It must be nearing eight pm ; late-summer nights are always brief. He passes the time deciding how he’ll deliver the final blow. Figuring out how to get to that stage is not nearly as fun, since the task feels more difficult than ever. Levi’s in a house surrounded by Smith’s crew, weaponless and locked in a stuffy living room. If Smith ever gets time alone, he doesn’t know.

The lock clicks. Armin’s book slams to the tabletop.

Mike strides in, towering over the couch. “Boss wants to see you.”

Levi fixes his gaze to the window.

“I’ve already become a darned errand boy, don’t make me drag you out of here as well.” Levi weighs up the options of walking willingly to Smith or being manhandled there. He can at least keep his dignity.

He climbs off the couch and follows Mike to the corridor. His feet are silent as he pads over the floorboards. Mike’s gait is an irritating rhythm.

As they pass what Levi’s worked out to be the front door, he slows for just a moment. He could run. Take off out the door and grab his horse.

He drags his legs onwards and follows Mike into another room. Levi won’t leave without his swords, and not with Smith‘s head still attached to his neck.

Inside stretches a long mahogany table surrounded by matching dark chairs. The bookworm is engaged in a passionate conversation with a wary looking man. Mike takes a seat adjacent the blonde woman. She smiles at him, a look Levi didn’t expect her stern features could create. 

But Levi’s avoiding him, really. The man sitting at the head of the table. If he turns his head, those eyes will be on him.

“Take a seat, Levi.”

“I’ll stand.”

Smith doesn’t push. He brings up a hand to cup his cheek and releases a breathy sigh.

Sigh? Levi’s never seen him look anything but composed. He remembers the bullets flying past Smith’s head as he returned fire from behind the bartop. Levi blinks a half dozen times.

“I’d ask you to leave, but I know you won’t go easily. On the other hand, we could drag you away from here, but you’re so persistent, I doubt I’ll ever be rid of you.” Smith says it like it’s _Levi’s_ fault he’s got a damned vendetta. 

Everyone’s staring at Levi now. Mike’s eyeing him like an especially annoying piece of dirt. It’s sort of awkward, standing stock-still in a doorway with no shoes on and an overwhelming urge to wrap his hands around Smith’s throat. 

Smith throws his hands up and sighs again. “That’s what we’re gathered for. To decide what to do with you.”

Mike opens his mouth as though prepared with a solution (Levi doubts it’s pleasant) when Eren shoves past him and into the room. The boy catches his breath, and when he realises who he’s pushed out of the way, he whips around and backs into the table.

“Not now, Jaeger. The adults are talking,” Mike says.

Eren shakes his head but doesn’t say anything more. Smith pulls his eyebrows together. “What happened, Eren?”

“The Sheriff’s come knocking. He wants a word.”

When Smith rises from his chair, Levi steps out of the way to let him pass. He curses the man’s commanding presence. Everyone follows Smith’s lead in a neat line, so Levi joins the end of the queue. What business has the Sheriff got here? And where _is_ Here?

“Good evening, Sheriff Pixis.”

Levi peaks around the hulking figures in the entrance hall to view the visitor. Sherrif Pixis is a slight man with crosshatching crease lines framing his eyes, either from frequent smiling or alcoholism - presumably the latter, considering the flask poking out his breast pocket.

“Evenin’ Smith. Been a while since you were in town, eh? I was startin’ to forget you lived here.”

Whilst the two spatter niceties, Levi takes the opportunity to scour the hall. He can’t open draws in search for his swords with the hunters nearby, so he instead rifles through the papers scattered over the cabinets. Reports and annotated maps repeat on every yellowing page. Levi takes a closer look at the reoccurring town: Albuquerque.

“Well Erwin, the real reason I stopped by is ‘cause a rumour is spreadin’ ‘round town. Folks are sayin’ you’re harbourin’ a dangerous criminal.”

“Ex criminal,” Smith corrects.

Levi replaces the papers and mutters under his breath, “not for long.”

“Is he here? Can I sneak a look?”

Levi’s eyes widen when Smith’s crew don’t immediately part to reveal him skulking in the back. It’s only when they see Smith’s nod that they shuffle out of the way.

“So, Levi Ackerman. The rumours are true.”

He doesn’t have much to say to that. Levi crosses his arms and inches back.

“Well I’ll be darned, Erwin. You may be bringin’ serious trouble into my town.”

“Trust me,” Smith side-eyes him. “I didn’t choose to.”

The sheriff reaches up to pat Smith’s shoulder. “Well, if there’s anyone who can handle him, it’ll be you. Good luck, Erwin. You’ll need it.”

“Thank you, Pixis. Have a good night.”

The sheriff flicks one last glance at Levi. “May we all.”

He exits the door and stumbles down the porch. When Levi returns his gaze to the hall, everyone’s eyes are on him.

“What?” He asks, gripping his shoulders tighter.

“Tea would be nice, I think.” Smith says, heading back to the dining room. “Moblit, would you ask one of the boys?”

The man goes to knock on a door further down the hall. Levi follows Smith and his posset to the dining table.

As much as he likes his vantage point above Smith’s head, Levi’s thigh throbs too hard for him to stand any longer. He drags a chair - screeching over the wood floor - and sits in it back to front, facing the room.

Levi hardly hears Moblit return. He lays his arms over the chair’s back and rests his chin on top. Smith refuses to continue the conversation until he’s got his tea, and the quiet of the room lulls Levi into peace. Staying alert all evening in the foreign house has been emotionally draining.

“Levi, Sir?”

“Hm?” He looks up to find Armin, hand outstretched with a pot of tea.

“I asked if you’d like some.”

He’s dying to say yes. One glance at Smith’s assessing gaze makes him scrunch his nose.

“No,” he sighs. “Thank you.”

“Have you eaten or drunk at all today, Levi?” Smith enquires.

He stares at a chip in the table and picks at his jacket.

“Armin, did he eat the food?”

Levi turns his head to the boy, frozen with his teapot. He glares with as much threat as he can muster. Armin stares back, eyes flicking between him and Smith.

“Don’t look at him, Armin. Eyes on me,” Smith says.

Armin screws up his eyes and squeaks out “yes!”

Oh, this boy has it coming.

Smith dismisses Armin and sips his tea. Levi can’t bear to be in the room a moment longer. He stands and points at the bookworm ; they look by far the most scatterbrained. “You.”

“Me?” They point to their chest, real dramatic. Then they turn and point to Moblit, sitting adjacent. “ _Oh_ , I think he wants you, Moblit.”

“No Hange, he’s definitely pointing at you.”

“Hange. Take me to the bathroom.”

“Why Hange?” The blonde woman asks.

Smith looks up at him. “He doesn’t like the rest of us.”

“Nanaba’s got a point,” Mike says. “We should decide who takes him to the bathroom.”

“It doesn’t matter who goes. Just be back in five minutes, Hange,” Smith says.

“Sure thing!” They get up and grab Levi by the wrist. He tries to shake them off but doesn’t succeed until they’re halfway down the hall. 

“Oi, four eyes,” Levi points to a random closed door. “What room’s that?”

They quirk a brow. “Mike and Nanaba’s.”

“What about that one?”

“Not Erwin’s,” they slap the next door before Levi points to it. “Nor is this one.”

“Who said I’m looking for Erwin’s?”

They pause to look at each other. Perhaps this Hange isn’t too far gone.

Hange continues to hop down the hall. Levi catches himself on the wall when they jerks to a stop.

“This way, sir,” Hange bows as they open the door.

Levi storms into the bathroom, hand prepped to slam the door. A sweaty palm clasps his wrist.

“Wha-“

“Second door, left of the living room.”

“‘Scuse me?”

“Erwin’s room.” Hange grins. Levi tugs the door so he only sees them through the slit. They’re playing a game - Levi just hasn’t worked out what it’s called.

“Don’t take too long, will you?” Hange says. Levi slams the door and snaps back, “tell Smith I’m taking a fat shit.”

He throws down the toilet lid and takes a seat. Five minutes of alone time doesn’t feel all that great when someone’s breathing down the door.

There’s only one smudge of dirt on the bath tiles. He scowls at it with full force. The chances of his weapons being hid in here are laughable, but Levi would be cheating himself if he didn’t bother checking. He shuffles through the sparse cabinets but finds only drying soap bottles and cotton pads.

After a few minutes of pointless searching, he stands back up and barely keeps from kicking the side of the bath ; Levi’s not getting his stitches done again.

He takes a piss, though he’s far from desperate, and scrubs his hands until they’re pink as a rose. Layers of dirt have buried unshakable roots under his nails. He’s got the urge to just claw the darned things off.

He twists the knob and strides from the room. Hange jumps off the wall.

“Do I need to give you a pat down?”

“Put your dirty fingers on me and you ain’t gettin’ them back.”

They laugh and start skipping back to the dining room. Levi twists his lips into a frown and covers his eye with a palm.

“Hey, Hange,” he says.

“Levi.” Hange stops dead and spins around, eyes flicking over his best attempt at a pained expression. 

“My leg and skull fuckin’ kill. D’you think I could have a lie down?” He kneeds his brow and sighs. “Can’t do Smith any damage like this.”

Hange tilts their head to the side, ear touching shoulder. “Okay, Levi.”

He tries to hide his surprise.

“I’ll tell the others. I’m sure we can manage the meeting without you.” Levi’s not much interested in their plans for him anyway.

They walk back to his room. Hange watches him pad to his bed before shutting the door. The click of the lock is becoming familiar.

As evening dwindles, laughter and chatter in the house begins to quiet. Shutting doors and distant _goodnight’s’_ soon follow. Levi stomps over the floorboards of his room, listening for creaks. When he finds one that bends under his weight, he crouches and tries to pry it from the floor.

His nails crack on the edges. The board won’t give. He presses his ear to the door, but no footsteps sound down the corridor. Levi grabs the edge of the desk and drags it towards the floorboard.

Harsh white scratch lines scar the floor, but he doesn’t stop until one of the desk legs sits atop the chosen board.

He grips a corner of the desk and hauls it upwards. The thing only rises a couple inches, but it should be enough. Levi lets go, wincing at the loud thud, and checks the floorboard. The side previously stuck fast to the other boards is now free, sunk at an odd angle.

Levi wrenches it all the way out and tucks it under his good knee, gripping the exposed half and yanking upright. The board splinters, and with a little more effort it spits in two along the width.

He brings it to his bed. Waiting on the pillow are some scraps of sugar paper he discovered earlier, left forgotten in the desk drawer. He drags a piece over the narrowed edge. Shavings litter the bedcovers.

As night falls, Levi wears away at the board. Monotonous movements make the passing hours feel timeless. He almost forgets to stop ; the slice of pointed wood across his knuckles reminds him of his task.

Levi wraps his hand with a strip of bedsheet to staunch the blood. If his hand were to slip whilst using this weapon, he’d never forgive himself.

Next is the window. He could smash it, if he were looking for the fastest way to get caught. The only part of the window that opens is a small hatch at the top, though it’s locked tight. Levi grabs the candle holder from the cabinet and jams it down on the handle. A dozen hits later and the handle cracks, hanging loose by the screws.

The window’s tiny, really. Even with his slight stature, the fit will be a claustrophobic hell.

Levi pushes the pane and the window opens outwards. Standing on the sill, stake gripped so tightly it gnaws at his flesh, he sticks his arms out the frame and wriggles through.

He lands headfirst on the ground. Summer drought has desertified the soil ; it’s like head-butting a rock. Levi crawls to his feet and edges around the side of the building.

He pictures the blueprint of the house, every corridor and room, and heads for the window that must be Smith’s. If he’s wrong, he won’t get a second chance. But this may _be_ his only chance.

When Levi turns the corner, his feet stop dead. 

Albuquerque is a city of stars. The dunes slope from the front porch all the way to the centre of town. Hanging lanterns and twinkling lamps lead the path through terracotta houses packed shoulder to shoulder.

This house is no exception ; though on the outskirts, its roof boasts a row of amber lights that sway in the breeze where they hang off the edge.

Levi wishes Isabel could’ve seen this. He pictures all the golden lights setting Farlan’s eyes ablaze.

The task at hand seems a million galaxies away. It festers somewhere behind him, in the dark of the house.

Levi kicks the dirt. Lighting shoots up his leg and he curses his goddamned stitches. He kneels at the edge of the dune and roots his hands in his hair.

Levi yanks and tugs as though he can drag back his fleeting resolve if he pulls _just hard enough._ It’s all a big fucking joke. He’s been grounded like a child by the very man he swore to kill. If Smith could move his face a damned inch, he’d be laughing his stupid eyebrows off. Levi stabs his stake into the sand, but the earth doesn’t bleed.

He jumps to his feet and storms to Smith’s window. Digging his nails under the window pane, Levi wills his fingers to steady as he drags the window up. He eases his grip and the window stays. He nudges the curtains aside.

Soft butter hair spills over a pillow. Long fingers clasp the edge of a sheet. They don’t twitch at Levi’s intrusion.

Smith’s face isn’t visible in the shadow of the room, but his exposed neck glows well enough. Levi perches on the sill and drops down onto his toes. The boards keen under his weight.

Levi flicks his gaze to Smith. He doesn’t wake, though his lips tug into a frown. It seems even dreams do nothing to improve his mood.

He stalks to the edge of the bed. Smith shifts so he’s facing the far wall. The man’s so darned tall, he’ll have climb onto the cot.

Levi hops onto the mattress, heels sinking into the soft cushion. He drops to his knees and eyes Smith’s body through the covers. He’s careful, real fucking careful, as he inches foward to straddle Smith around his waist. The warmth of his legs radiates into Levi’s skin. Levi draws the stake in front of his chest and leans forward.

Just as the sharpened tip caresses his throat, Smith turns his head, eyes flying open. They’re so deep a blue that it takes Levi a moment to realise Smith’s staring right at him. He freezes, weapon resting on his Adam’s apple.

Neither of them move. The stake is trembling. Smith’s eyes are steady.

Levi jerks back, preparing to drive down with force, but Smith’s heavy hand coils around his thigh, keeping him from from retreating any further. Smith squeezes the tense muscle.

Levi leans in again, stake ready and waiting at Smith’s neck. Smith raises his free hand and doesn’t stop until it encompasses both of Levi’s own.

Smith pulls him forward until the point teases his throat. The skin dips, but doesn’t break. His eyes are still fixed on Levi’s.

“Do it,” Smith says.

The wind rustles outside. Levi’s lungs ache.

“Do it, Levi.” His thumb brushes over Levi’s knuckles. “I’m right here.”

Levi squeezes his eyes until he sees crimson. He digs his knees into the mattress. He tightens his fingers around the stake.

He shoves off the bed, collapsing on the floor and hurling the stake across the room. It hits something hollow and clatters to the floor. He crawls onto his hands and knees, but his legs won’t take his weight.

“Then I was right about you,” Smith says. “You’re not a lost cause.”

Levi claws at the floorboards and scrabbles to his feet. Racing to the door, he flings it open and paces down the corridor.

But when he reaches his room, the key’s not in the outside lock. Hange must’ve taken the fucking thing with them.

Levi presses his back to the door and slides to the floor ; there’s no way in hell he’s going back to Smith’s room to get in through the window.

When his panting subsides, he finds the house deadly quiet. It creeks now and again like all old things, but Levi welcomes any distraction from his rabid thoughts.

Eventually his eyes begin to fall shut. The floor is cool and the door hard as glass, but before long, he’s drifting into darkness.

“Mornin’ Ackerman,” says a boy as he shoulders past Levi to grab a mug.

Levi’s already had a tough enough morning: waking in his bed (where he most certainly _didn’t_ fall asleep), fumbling around the house in search of the kitchen, and trying his absolute hardest not to wake anyone. He is _not_ going to face Smith first thing in the morning. 

The sky is still orange and turquoise, and the birds are still chirping their greetings, but alas, it seems Levi is not the only morning person in the house.

He clenches the square tin of tea leaves and throws the boy a glare.

“And who the fuck are you?”

He smirks and leans around Levi, snatching the jar of coffee. “Jean Kirstein.”

Conversation over, Levi pours his boiling water, though the kettle is yet to whistle.

“Hey, Levi. Your room’s close to Erwin’s, right?” Levi pauses with his fingers around the mug. “I heard some strange noises comin’ from his room last night - thought he might’ve had someone over. It’s funny right, because the boss looks so square all the time? But hey, did you hear anythin’?”

“No,” Levi snaps. He’s too tired to consider why his ears grow hot. He lowers his voice. “I mean, I’m not payin’ any fuckin’ attention to what Smith’s up to, am I? He could’ve gone to visit the leprechauns for all I care.”

Jean huffs into his coffee. “Could’ve fooled me.”

A hot flair of pain lances through Levi’s ear. He whips around.

“Hey!” He says as Hange retracts their fingers. “Wh-“

“You know what they say,” Hange starts, darting around Levi to pinch his other ear. “Your ears itch when someone’s talking about you. Do you think Erwin’s itching his ears?”

Levi has half a mind to flee to his room, but the scare still has him fired up. “No it ain’t,” he furrows his brows. “It’s your nose that tickles.”

Hange strokes their chin. “Well-“

“No way!” Sasha bursts into the kitchen with Connie on her tail. “Dad always said it’s your _toes_.”

Connie shakes his head. “Now that’s real bull, Sasha. Everyone’s got ticklish toes. How’d you know when someone’s talkin’ ‘bout you?”

“Well, however you look at it,” Levi says. “Smith’s too constipated to itch any scratch he gets.”

The room sniggers. Hange wraps their arm around Levi’s neck. “I wanna keep you, Levi! Stay still so I can tie you up.”

He ducks from their strangling grip, a smirk playing at his lips. “Just you try and catch me.”

Levi weaves past the birch counter, collects his cooling tea, and starts heading back to his room. But before he can escape, a figure blocks the kitchen doorway.

He stops in his tracks, two metres from the door. His tea nearly sloshes to the floor.

“Good morning,” Smith says. Levi eyes the carvings of sparrows perched on the window sill. Eventually Smith treads over to the counter.

With enough room to walk past Smith with a metre to spare, Levi paces to the door. Smith turns on his heel and raises a hand. It pauses just shy of Levi’s chest. His feet turn to stone.

He drags his head around, face already set in a scowl, and looks up at Smith. Levi’s eyes can’t seem to raise further than Smith’s chin. There he settles his gaze, smouldering and narrow.

Clinking metal fills his vision. Levi leans back to see the object Smith is dangling in his face - a bronze key. He pushes it closer when Levi doesn’t take it.

If Smith had Levi’s room key, and Levi fell asleep on the floor but woke up tucked into his _bed_ -

Levi snatches the key and shoves it into his trouser pocket. He starts foward but is interrupted once more by long fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“What the fuck,” he grinds out, “do you want?”

Smith lets go and drops his gaze to the floor. “There’s fresh fruit in the living room. We weren’t planning on coming here, so there isn’t much. But you should eat.”

Levi stomps into the corridor without turning around. On the way to his room, he takes another path.

The living room is empty save for Moblit, who’s scribbling in a leather notebook. He looks up and smiles when Levi enters, but busies himself in his work. Levi takes a seat on the rusty couch and sips his tea.

Grey clouds close in on the clement day. Levi watches the dark birds, extending their wings and circling endlessly. They won’t flee the oncoming sombre.

Once his mug is dry, Levi eyes the fruit bowl on the table. The assortment of colours is the freshest thing in the musty room. He gets up and edges to the table, the opposite side to where Moblit sits.

He stands behind a chair, fingers raised but hesitant. Moblit pushes the bowl towards him without looking up. Levi chooses the ripest plumb and retreats to the couch.

“Levi,” Moblit says after a long while. Levi jumps and races to catch the mug that flies from his hands. Moblit smiles and continues, “I was going to do some upkeep in the stables. Would you like to join me?”

The fruit in Levi’s stomach churns ; he hasn’t spared a thought for his pony in the past two days. “Okay.”

Levi follows him out back and finds the makeshift stables: a wooden lean-to clinging to the side of the house. Inside the horses snuffle in the sparse shade and slurp from a tin trough.

He walks in before Moblit and strides over to his horse. She’s easily recognisable amongst the lighter bays, but he pauses when he sees the horse she’s nudging.

The neat grey mare is practically white ; the coat is so rare that Levi knows it can only be Smith’s. It’s nose is buried in his own pony’s mane. He reaches out and pushes it away from his horse.

He bats the flies away from her warm eyes and pats her rump. 

“Smith’s been feeding her every day,” Moblit says, dragging in a hay bail. He wipes the beaded sweat from his brow. “She’s been testy, though.”

Levi gives her another pat for that and rubs her behind the ear. Moblit starts distributing the hay into the rope sacks tied to the wall. He finds a brush from the shelf and shucks off his jacket, hanging it on a hook.

“Is there any water around?” Levi asks. “I wanna clean her.”

Moblit pauses with a handful of hay. “The water’s not really meant for cleaning in the summer.”

Levi eyes Smith’s spotless mare. Moblit follows his gaze. “Alright, so long as you don’t tell Nanaba. She’s strict on the water.” He continues packing the hay. “Bucket’s in the corner.”

Levi wants to confirm that he’s not afraid of Nanaba in the slightest, but Moblit isn’t finished. “The closest pump is a minute down the hill. If you reach town then you’ve missed it.”

Levi nods, grabs the bucket, and walks out the door. “Oh, and Levi?” Moblit calls. “If you seen anyone, please don’t talk to them.”

He tries to follow Mobilt’s advice. He really does. But before the bucket’s even halfway full, two hot-shots saunter over.

“Hey, kid. You gonna be finished anytime today?” Levi drops the handle with a clang and drags his gaze around.

“Who’re you callin’ kid?” He glares at the men, one with greasy hair and the other with a poor attempt at a beard.

“No fuckin’ way,” Hairless gapes.

“Ackerman?” Greasy raises his brows. “So you really are in town. I’m surprised Smith hasn’t kicked your ass halfway ‘cross the country.”

Levi pulls up his sleeves and faces them with his full body.

“Surprised, are you? What’s so surprisin’?”

“Hey, back off,” Greasy says. Levi hasn’t moved an inch. “Ain’t no way you’re gonna risk goin’ back to prison so soon.”

“You wanna test that?” Levi cocks his head. Greasy clenches his fists.

“Oi,” Hairless raises his palm. “We’ve got no trouble with you. But that ain’t the case for everyone in town.”

“Who the hell has a problem with me, then?” Levi doesn’t mean to be so hot, but there’s still a backlog of anger he didn’t release last night.

“We’re not here to tattle-tail. Now, have you finished with the goddamned water?”

“I’m not done with the pump ‘till you answer me.”

Greasy takes a step forward. “Are you tryin’ to start somethin’, Ackerman? I don’t see your crew.” He makes a show of looking over Levi’s shoulder. He doesn’t even have to stand on his toes - lanky bastard.

“Just tell me who’s got the stick up their ass, kiddo,” he says. 

Greasy raises a fist. Levi hasn’t got so much as a knife, but he’s fast.

He punches Hairless in the jaw, then reels back to face Greasy. Levi accepts a lousy check to the ribs so he can shoot out his hands and grab the man around his neck.

Levi kicks off the dirt and they both go down. He tightens his fingers, ploughing into sweaty skin, picturing it’s Smith’s eyes rolling behind his lids and _Smith’s_ mouth choking around a breath.

He’s so caught up in the fantasy that he doesn’t see Hairless pick himself up. An iron boot collides with his waist. Levi grips Greasy’s collar tight. Another strike to the hip sends him flying across the ground, jagged rocks and gritty dust grating his cheek.

Knees pin down his shoulders like two fucking trucks. The boot pummels his face. Burning copper fills his mouth.

As the boot raises again, Levi kicks out at Hairless whilst clawing at Greasy’s face. Two thumps hit the earth. Levi doesn’t see them, but he’s already on his feet and flexing his fingers.

He leaps towards the nearest body and-

“Levi!” He jerks his head up and freezes.

“What in God’s name is going on?” Nanaba is bounding towards him, eyebrows pulled so tight they touch in the middle. Levi sits back on his knees. One breath in. Another out.

The oncoming party is tripping over their feet to get to him. Hot on Nanaba’s heels chase Hange, Eren, and an unimpressed Mikasa.

Levi feels like a goddamn kid being scolded, but he can’t help the urge to point out, “they started it.”

Nanaba shakes her head, but extends a hand to Levi anyway. He’s so surprised that he takes it and lets her pull him up without a thought. “Erwin tasked us to keep you out of trouble. Are you really so unhinged that we‘ll have to follow you everywhere?”

“I didn’t ask him to.”

“This is Erwin’s reputation on the line, don’t you-“

“Nanaba,” Hange rests a hand on her shoulder. “We have to trust Levi if we want him to trust us. I believe what he said.” They look back to the kids, either for support or reassurance. Eren gives a small nod. Mikasa looks at him, lips tugged down.

“Let’s go back to the house for now,” Hange continues. “We just got lunch from town. Levi, do you like Chili?”

“S’alright.”

“That’s a shame, because it’s Mike’s turn to cook!” Hange laughs when Eren groans.

Nanaba turns to the men rising from the the ground. “Hey, you two,” they raise their heads. “Ackerman is Smith’s business. Think before you go prattling to the Sherrif.” They grab their empty bucket and stomp back into town.

“And Mikasa?” She continues, turning around. “Would you carry back our bucket? Levi’s made his knuckles blue and I don’t trust Eren not to drop it on his toes.”

Mikasa doesn’t reply but retrieves the bucket nonetheless. She throws a glare at Levi as they start back towards the house.

Levi’s herded through the front door before he can protest, promising to give his pony a bath later tonight.

Mike greets them in the dining room. “Should I ask?”

Nanaba sighs. “Come on, we’ve got the ingredients. I’ll help you in the kitchen.”

One by one they all file out, leaving him alone and rubbing his nose. Copper coats his tongue.

“Was it your fault?”

When Levi looks up, Smith is lounging in the doorway. His arm drapes along the top of the frame, head hanging to watch Levi.

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

Smith smiles. Suddenly they’re back in a dingy bar, Levi hiding behind a newspaper as Smith inquires about his latest bounty.

“Have you gotten some of your anger out, at least?” Smith asks.

Levi drops his gaze and shifts his feet. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“No,” Smith says. Levi watches as he walks around the table, shuffling through the side cabinets and pulling stuff out.

“Sorry?” But there’s nothing forthcoming. Levi blinks and starts to leave.

Smith spins around, blocking his way. He’s closer than Levi expected. Smith’s body traps him against the table.

“No. Someone’s in there, anyway.”

“Then I’ll wait outside.” Levi hugs the table to squeeze past Smith. He freezes when two fingers press into his thigh.

Levi’s eyes grow to saucers. Smith rubs his leg, kneading the skin through the trousers.

“Wh-“

“Just as I thought. Your stitches are broken.” Smith pulls his hand away and turns back to the cabinets. “Sit down, Levi.”

He obeys, though with his shaking legs he’s got to grip the chair to climb onto the table.

Smith returns with scissors, a packaged needle and thread, and a half-bottle of whiskey.

“I can do it myself,” Levi says.

“Do you know how?” He doesn’t (an oversight on his part - Farlan always patched him up) and from Smith’s tone it sounds like he knows. Can he read everyone so well?

“Is there anyone else who can do it, at least?”

“It’s me or Hange. No one else knows first aid.” Levi thinks of Hange’s crazy smile as they dig a needle into his skin. He’s not _that_ desperate.

“Can I choose neither?”

“I suppose. But then I’ll have to lock you in your room and listen as you slowly die of infection.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “Just get on with it, old man.”

After Smith hooks the needle, he dips it in the whiskey and looks at Levi. Smith doesn’t move. He’s waiting.

Levi purses his lips and grips the waist of his trousers. Balancing his feet on the chair, he lifts up and tugs the leather down to his knees. Smith is watching some point above his shoulder, but looks back down when he hears him finish.

Smith’s warm fingertips brush over his thigh. They settle under his wound, holding Levi’s leg. His other hand grabs the scissors. Levi grips the table to halt his shivers.

Smith cuts the old threads and pulls them out. He readies the needle, offering Levi the whiskey bottle with the other hand. Levi scowls at it. After a moment, Smith shrugs and plunges the needle into his skin.

Levi shuts his eyes, hiding the way he squints after every tug of the needle. It’s true Smith knows how to use his hands ; the stitches are divine. Levi refuses to compliment his fine work.

Smith ties the knot and steps back. Levi pulls up his trousers. He’s about to hop down when Smith grabs his calf, anchoring him to the table. “Not done yet.”

“I’m fuckin’ dandy.”

“You’ve got something on your face.” Levi runs his hand over his nose. His fingers come back scarlet. Smith grabs a cloth and hands it over. Levi snatches it and scrubs at his face.

“I passed Nanaba in the corridor,” Smith says, frowning again. “She said when you were on the ground, a man was kicking you in the side.”

“Nice observation.” Levi folds his arms.

“I’m asking, will it be a problem?”

“I’m fine.”

“Get up, then.” Smith steps back. “Walk.”

Levi watches Smith as he jumps down from the table. He grabs the chair when he lands, hip giving out at the impact. Smith sighs.

“Up again.” He gestures to the table. Levi takes a deep breath and tries to climb up. He slips at the last second.

Fingers grip his waist, hoisting him up and placing him on the tabletop. The heat retreats as soon as it came.

“Give me a day and I’ll be fine,” Levi says, digging his fingers into the wood. “Don’t worry, the assassination attempts will resume shortly.”

“Will it kill you to accept help, Levi?”

“I’m not sure,” he says, tilting his head. “Will it?”

Smith doesn’t reply. He reaches out to touch the hem of Levi’s shirt until Levi pulls it over his shoulders.

He doesn’t look down at the bruising, but from Smith’s knitted brows he guesses they’re a very deep shade of purple.

Hot fingertips rise to his ribs, testing every bone with a lingering touch. They travel to his waist, pressing into the dip and tracing over the raise of his hip. Levi hisses, eyes flying around the room.

Smith’s hand comes to rest at his side, palm clasped around his back, thumb circling his hipbone. Levi swallows. Heat curls in his gut.

“Boss!” Someone swings through the door. “Lunch is read-“

Levi whips around to find Connie frozen in the doorway. His cheeks flush scarlet. He spins on his feet and races back down the corridor.

Smith’s hand jerks away. Levi shoves his shirt down and scowls at his feet.

“Nothing’s broken.” Smith packs up the first aid and shoves it into the cabinets.

“Okay.” Levi shakes his head and slides off the table. He limps to the kitchen, but no footsteps follow behind him.

People pack into the kitchen like sardines. Levi waits until everyone’s filled their plates and headed to the dining room before serving his own dish.

Nanaba’s the last to leave. She passes Smith as he finally makes an entrance.

“Erwin,” she greets. “There won’t be enough chairs in the dining room. Would you like me to grab the ones in the lounge?”

“Don’t worry. The table’s not big enough for us all.” Smith flicks his gaze to Levi, grabbing cutlery from the draw. “Will you join me in the living room, Levi?”

He nods at Smith, then follows out after Nanaba. Smith takes his seat opposite Levi at the small table not long after.

They eat in silence. Trying for words would make things awkward. He listens to Smith scrape his food around the plate as the birds circle outside the window.

They finish in unison. He trails behind Smith to the kitchen, joining Mike who’s begun washing the dishes.

“Leave them there.” He gestures to the counter, flicking water everywhere. “Did you like the food?”

When Smith doesn’t answer, he realises Mike was talking to him.

“Slightly more nutritious than shit, I suppose,” Levi says.

Mike screws up his lips, but is interrupted by a knock at the door. He shakes off his gloves. “I’ll get it.”

Levi turns to watch Smith, who’s brows furrow as he drifts closer to the doorway. 

“Nile,” Mike greets in the hall. “How lovely to see you.”

Mike’s a loud person, but even for him the pitch is over the top. Smith’s eyes widen ; Mike was warning him.

He walks into the corridor with a flick of his hand: _stay put._ Levi silently follows.

“Let’s skip the small talk. Ackerman,” Levi freezes, but the man is around the corner - there’s no way he can see him. “Where is he?”

In an instant Levi is shoved through the closest open door. Smith crowds him against the wall and smothers his protest with a heavy hand. His other reaches behind them to shut the door.

The room is basked in shadow. The sparse light glowing through the curtains illuminates a bed and little more.

Boots click down the corridor, the hollow taps echoing through the floorboards. Levi struggles in Smith’s grip. It’s too tight.

“I don’t remember invitin’ you in, Nile. I’m not in the mood for a tea party.”

“Where’s Erwin, then?”

“Town.”

Nile’s voice is somehow familiar. Levi can’t place it, and the weight of Smith’s hand isn’t helping to jog his memory.

Levi tries to bite Smith’s palm, but the best he manages under his iron fingers is a small nibble. Smith tilts his head away from the door and furrow his brows at Levi. He slides his hand down an inch so Levi can breathe through his nose.

The footsteps grow louder. Smith presses closer. His heartbeat pulses on Levi’s lips.

A slam reverberates through the walls. The footsteps stop inches away - denied entry.

“You’re tense, Mike. Tell me where Ackerman is and I’ll clear out.”

“I dunno. He took off yesterday.”

“Bullshit.”

“What d’you want with him, anyway?” Mike snarls.

“We’ve got unfinished business. If you don’t tell me where he is, you’ll become a part of that business.”

Levi squeezes his eyes shut, trying to put a face to the words. His mind is darker than the room.

“If you’re gonna threaten me Nile, then get the fuck out.” Silence.

And then the boots storm away, fading down the corridor. “I’ll be back with my crew.” Nile calls. “Tell Erwin: welcome to the fight.”

After a few more beats, a shuffling picks up at the end of the hall. “Oi, brats,” Mike says. “Whilst you were busy gawkin’, did you see where Erwin went?”

Smith jerks his hand off Levi’s mouth and straightens up. Levi nearly drops to the floor when he’s no longer supported. The handle shifts and Mike bursts into the room.

Levi tugs down his jacket as Mike throws his gaze between them. He jabs his thumb at Levi, turning to Smith. 

“We need a meeting.”

Levi can’t move without touching another body. Everyone is crammed into the dining room, subjecting him to the chair at the head of the table. No one else is sitting.

He stares at the empty doorway and sighs. “I’m not leaving.”

Mike’s fist collides with the table. “Say that one more time and -“

“Mike.” Smith magnetises every gaze in the room, yet his eyes remain focused on Levi. “Whether he stays or goes doesn’t matter anymore. Nile believes we have Levi, and if he thinks we’ve hidden him upon his arrival, he’ll fight us anyway.”

Nanaba crosses her arms. “Nile’s not that reckless, Erwin. It doesn’t matter that you’ve fallen out - he’d still need a darn good reason to try and challenge you.”

“A good reason, you say.” Hange leans over the table and cocks their head. “Why don’t we ask the man himself? Why _is_ Nile after you?”

“I don’t know.” Levi pushes his feet into the floorboards.

“Probably murdered his family,” Mikasa mutters. Eren jabs her in the ribs.

“I didn’t see his face. I might’ve never met him.” He definitely has.

Smith pulls the chair at the opposite end of the table and sits down. 

“We’re not getting anywhere,” he says, threading his fingers together. “Here are the facts: Nile’s going to turn up on our doorstep with his crew any day now. He’s going to fight us whether Levi’s here or not. The decision we need to come to is whether we hand Levi over, or fight alongside him.”

“Who says I’m fighting?”

Mike sneers down at him. “Didn’t you hear Nile? He’s out for blood. You don’t seem the type to just sit down and take it, Ackerman.”

Levi crosses his legs and snorts, but Mike’s right. He’s got enough on his plate as it is, and Nile’s appearance is doing nothing to quell his tempter.

“Let’s take a vote, then,” Smith says. “All in favour of handing Levi over?”

Too many hands rise into the air. Smith’s lips tug down at the corners. “All in favour of defending Levi?”

The hands raise slower this time. Levi shoots his gaze over the dotted heads. It’s a fifty-fifty tie.

“Armin,” Hange says, lowering their hand. “You didn’t vote.”

Armin shrinks under the attention, backing into the wall. “Well, I’m not too sure. Before I decide, I’d like to ask Mr. Ackerman something - if he’ll answer honestly.”

“Shoot,” Levi says, voice level, though he can’t stop his fingers from drumming the table.

“Have you ever killed someone ... in cold blood? Completely unprovoked?”

“Never.” Smith’s watching him in the corner of his eye. Armin nods and holds Levi’s gaze for a few seconds. “Then I vote we help him.”

Boots pound over the floorboards. Mike storms out the door. Nanaba chases after him.

Smith sighs, but his eyebrows relax. “Thank you, everyone. You’re dismissed - but stay on guard.”

Sasha steps up to the table as the adults file out. “Hey, Boss. We were wandering - me and the others,” she gestures to the kids behind her, “if we could sit outside this evening? Jean restocked the drinks, and Connie found cards in the living room.”

Smith rubs his temples. “What did I say about stealing, Jean?” He looks between the expectant gazes and caves. “Go ahead, but you’ll be setting up the tables yourselves.”

They begin to shuffle out the room. Smith calls after them, “and please don’t start the fire yourself! Ask an adult. Though for the love of God, _don’t_ ask Hange.”

They scatter into the hall and race to the front door. Smith turns around, cheeks pinking when he finds Levi still sitting there. Levi has to force his lips back into a frown.

“It’s like raising kids,” Smith complains, though he’s smiling. “Sometimes I think a toddler would be less demanding.”

“Just be glad they all like you. It seems they’d make a pretty ferocious team, if they were to go up against you.”

“Oh, I’m not sure I’d use the word _like_. Indebted, maybe.”

Levi rolls his eyes and stands up. “You’re dense as shit, old man.”

Smith also gets to his feet. “Well, I best talk with Mike. Will you take over parental duty for a while?”

Levi taps his chin, pretending to consider. “I’ll watch as they throw themselves into the fire.”

Smith laughs and heads down the corridor. Levi continues onto the front porch.

Moblit crouches before a fire pit, surrounded by glowing yellow faces that stare into the embers. The scraping of flints drifts to the porch.

A bench emerges around the corner of the house, followed by a heaving Hange and Jean. They come to a halt at the edge of the dune and slump onto the seats.

“Hey, Ackerman!” Jean waves at Levi. “Get the other bench, would you?”

“No can do,” Levi says. “I can’t break my stitches.”

Jean kicks the bench leg, swears, then pounds it with his fist. Hange rolls onto the sand.

Once the fire’s roaring and the seating set up, the kids run to the kitchen to grab snacks. Levi snatches a root beer from the bench and sits at the dune’s edge.  
Other than the flame, the scattered lanterns are the brightest lights illuminating the sky this evening.

The town is surprisingly large ; lights disappear over the horizon. Down South has grown to be so arid, hardly anything survives unless you live in the North.

He tips the bottle all the way back to snatch the last few drops. Something flutters past his collar.

A knee emerges on his right. Smith crouches next to him, a bottle of real alcohol outstretched. Levi eyes it, then plucks it from his hand.

“Good evening, Levi. You know it’s sad to drink alone.”

“I’m my own best company,” Levi leans back on his palms.

“With that I have no doubt,” Smith says. He stands up, voice growing distant as he walks back towards the house. “But you could at least have the courtesy to join us.”

Levi digs his old bottle into the dirt. Sand floods the cap and drowns the bottle. When it’s half full, he gets up and follows after Smith.

His crew is separated in two. Kids on one table, adults on the other. Levi takes one look at Jean shoving Eren’s head into the benchtop and makes a pivot for the Big table.

Smith shuffles over the best he can, but Levi’s thigh still presses flush against his. He studies the grains of the bench so he doesn’t have to meet Hange’s eyes.

“Do you handle alcohol well, Levi?” Hange leans in closer from their seat opposite. The benchtop proves no match for their ability to intrude on personal pace.

“I’m okay.”

“Really?” They push their head closer. “I’m surprised - you’re so tiny!”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Trembles travel up his leg. Smith is hiding his laugh with a hand.

“Erwin’s not too good himself, actually,” Moblit says from Smith’s other side. Levi can hardly see him from around Smith’s huge shoulders.

Smith jabs a finger into the table. “Now now. At least I’m not as bad as Mike.”

Beside Hange, Nanaba is patting Mike’s shoulder. Three empty bottles sit before him. Nanaba gestures to the new bottle in Mike’s hand. “That’s the only thing standing between you and his fists. Be careful, Levi.”

“It’s him who’s gotta be careful,” Levi jerks his head at Mike.

A warm hand clasps the nape of his neck. He shudders. Smith squeezes the bare skin, and Levi makes note of the near-empty liquor bottle clasped in his other hand.

“Come on, Levi,” he says. “Just enjoy tonight.”

Levi shakes him off and takes a large swig from his own bottle. “Nile could show up at any minute, and you’re busy getting drunk.”

“It’s a Friday!” Hange exclaims. “Nile wouldn’t dare ruin a Friday. Don’t worry Levi, the man’s not all crazy.”

Levi picks at his bottle’s label. When Smith’s finished his own, Levi starts on that one too. He listens as they shoot the bull, telling old stories that he has no part of and laughing at inside jokes. He’s sure they wouldn’t be funny even if he got them.

Levi admires the tower of bottle caps he’s stacked in size order. Hange pokes at the base.

“Don’t you dare,” he says.

But it’s too late. The caps scatter all over the bench. Levi grabs Hange’s shirt from across the table and shakes. “Shitty bastard.”

Hange slips from his grip and laughs. The table quiets, attention turning to the dispute.

“Levi,” Mike begins, a grin twisting his lips. “Have you ever had friends? Do you even _know_ how to socialise?”

Nanaba pokes his ribs, but he’s not finished. “Or do girls run at the sight of that scary face?”

“Oi, Nanaba,” Levi says. “How d’you like Mike with those burns all over his head?”

She grimaces, but quickly cups his cheek and kisses him on the corner of his mouth. “He’s still handsome as ever.”

Levi jumps up from the bench and flicks his gaze over the crew. There’s only so much he can take. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

He strides towards the house. No one follows. Not even Smith makes a fuss.

On the way to his room, he slows in the corridor. When he reaches his door he doesn’t stop.

Smith’s door is open ajar. The dim hallway light reveals a box of matches on the dresser, so Levi starts a flame and brings it to the lamp.

He starts with the draws. Pulling out every one, Levi shuffles through useless clutter and crumpled papers until he sees the oak bottoms. All six searched: no swords.

The desk is next. It matches Levi’s, though it’s twice the size. One of the compartments is sealed with a lock. Levi bypasses it for the other draws; Smith isn’t so obvious.

After no luck with the desk, he pads past a shelf of dusty classics (ordered alphabetically) to Smith’s wardrobe. He pulls open the door.

Supple leather clings to every hanger, a musky scent of pine needles and gunpowder drifting off the clothes. He rifles through the folded shirts stacked at the bottom, checks under the heavy pairs of boots, then finally swings the door closed on the familiar scent.

A weight shoves him from behind. Levi’s cheek presses into the wardrobe door. His palm still clasping the handle is drowned by another. Slim fingers wrap around his neck.

He breathes in - pine trees, smoke, alcohol, leather. Smith presses him flush against the door and shoves a knee between his thighs. The fingers tighten.

“What are you doing in here, Levi?” Smith breathes into his neck.

Levi‘s muscles tighten. The wood is smooth and cool beneath his cheek. He leans into it.

Smith’s fingers climb up his throat. He grasps Levi’s chin, yanking his head back so he can see Smith in the corner of his eye.

Smith rests his lips over Levi’s naked neck. “Did you get lost on the way to your room?” The words vibrate through his skin.

Levi takes a short breath. “You know what I want.”

“Hmm?” Smith’s knee drags further up his thigh. “Forgive me Levi, but recently you’ve been a little unclear.”

He pulls Levi’s neck back. Levi follows. His head fits into the curve of Smith’s neck, heartbeat pulsing through his hair. Smith loosens his grip over the handle, instead trailing a finger down the soft underside of Levi’s wrist. Tingles bloom through his skin.

He shuts his eyes and spins. Smith’s hand flies from his neck. He looks down at Levi with rose cheeks and blown eyes.

“Where are they, Smith?”

Smith stalks over to the window. He leans against the frame, half-turning to watch Levi. “And if I give them to you, what will you do with them?”

“You _know_ what I want.”

Smith’s shoulders slump. “You aren’t angry, Levi. You’re in pain.”

Levi brings his hands into the light. They’re trembling. He closes them into fists.

“And it was me who caused it,” Smith continues. “I’m starting to feel like I deserved it. Your wrath.”

Back leaning against the wardrobe, Levi sinks to the bedroom floor. He buries his fingers in his hair and shakes his head. “You are who you are. Your goals were fixed. I misplaced my trust.”

Smith spins all the way around. “I lied to you. I didn’t come to bail you out of prison.”

Levi raises his head. Smith is shrouded in silver.

“I don’t want to lie anymore,” Smith says.

But how many times has he said that? Maybe every day. Maybe never. Yet somehow, it sounds like honesty.

“May I ask you something, Levi?”

He doesn’t respond, but Smith understands his silence. “Why do you use swords?”

They’re trading in truths. If Levi wants honesty, he’ll have to bargain some of his own.

“My mother was murdered with a gun. I will not take lives so carelessly.”

Smith’s lips pull thin. “And so you have given yourself the burden of draining life with your bare hands.”

He nods to himself for a while, then focuses back on Levi. “Beneath your bed.”

Levi blinks. Then blinks again. He pulls himself off the ground and paces to the doorway. He pauses there, and tilts his head to the room.

Smith’s watching him, back facing the moon. He smiles. Levi drifts into the corridor.

When he reaches his bed, he sinks to his knees. There’s nothing resting on the shadowed floorboards. He tries running his hand over the underside of the mattress.

There; a leather grip, a smooth curve. Levi grips the hilt and slides it out.

His sword is in perfect condition. Levi retrieves it’s partner, then his better concealed knife. To think after all these days, he was sleeping directly above his weapons.

Smith’s a right clever bastard. Levi would never think to check beneath his own feet. 

_What will you do with them?_

He hugs the swords to his chest. Nile is his most urgent threat; he’ll deal with Smith later.

Embracing his blades, he climbs into bed.

The walls shake as though an earthquake struck town. Levi rolls out of bed, swords sheathed and dagger at the ready.

As he edges towards the door, he rips open the curtains. Copper light fills the room. The sun burns on the horizon, ready to rise.

He pauses a breath from the door. Footsteps pound down the corridor, rattling the house to the foundations. He clasps the handle.

The door flies into his face. Smith steps on his toes.

“Levi,” he greets, breathless. They stare at each other, frozen in place. Levi is suddenly aware of his bed head and unbuttoned shirt. His fingers itch to correct, but Smith quickly shakes his head and hits unpause.

“Levi. Nile’s here.”

He barges past Smith and spins in the corridor. No attackers. He starts racing to the front entrance.

Smith graps his shoulder. “Wait.”

Levi slips from his grip and continues his charge.

“Levi.” A shift in the air. “Stop.”

His hand grasps the cold metal doorknob. As he twists his wrist, he’s yanked backwards.

Smith’s got him by the waist, hauling him away from the door and dropping him down in the corridor. He doesn’t have time to be dragged around like a ragdoll.

He flicks his knife up to Smith’s throat. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Don’t be so reckless.”

Levi presses the blade to his skin. “Get out of my way.”

Smith grips his wrists and slams them into the wall behind. The thud echoes. “Just listen for a damn minute.”

Levi relaxes his grip. He fixes Smith with a glare.

“Nile’s got his crew lined up out front. Fancy a bullet in your head, Levi?”

“Then what d’you fuckin’ suggest?”

“You like climbing through windows, yes?” He flicks his gaze to the one at the end of the corridor. “Mike’s got the adults stalling outside. Go to the stable. Grab your horse. Take Nile by surprise.”

Levi twists, ready to make for the window. Before he takes a step, he turns back to Smith. “And the kids? Are they somewhere safe?”

“Yes. Now go.”

Levi claws open the window frame. He slides out just as the pane slams shut on the end of his jacket.

He tears free and makes for the horses. His pony perks up at his approach, but she soon starts shuffling on her hooves. She’s already saddled up.

He checks Smith’s. His mare is still bareback. What is his plan for the fight?

Levi shuts his eyes, taps his heart, and decides to trust in Erwin Smith.

He creeps around to the front. His pony is slim enough to trot near-silently. At the corner of the house, he yanks on the reigns.

Half a dozen riders are lined up in front of the porch. Their horses kick up dust, turning to embers in the morning sun.

Smith stands at the head of his crew, fingers ghosting over the pistols at his hips. Mike twirls his gun around his finger.

“Nile,” Smith calls. “We have no fight with you. You can still turn around and leave.”

The riders part in the middle. A man rides out of the shadows. He stops and looks down at Smith. The light exposes his body.

“I’m not leaving without Ackerman’s head.”

Face matches voice. The puzzle clicks into place. Levi watches his friends’ killer adjust his hat.

He slams down his heels and charges Nile. Standing in the stirrups, he rips his swords from their sheaths. The riders scatter, forming an arc in front of their captain. Bullets tear through the air and break their formation.

The path is clear like a red string. He lets it drag him straight to Nile’s heart.

Nile shoots. Levi deflects the bullet with crossed swords. The next bullet comes for his head, but he’s already sliding from his horse and rolling across the ground.

Nile’s stampeed thunders through the earth and into Levi’s bones. When the hooves slam down just a metre away, he leaps.

He slashes through Nile’s thigh. Sour copper soaks his lips and and blinds his eyes. Levi blinks through the blood and scouts the battlefield for where Nile has fallen.

The ground explodes with bullets all around him. Cracked soil flies into the air, but through it he still spots Nile’s body.

He sprints. Nile reaches for his gun. Levi gets there first.

He stomps Nile’s hand. The snap crackles up his leg. He strikes over and over until the hand is mush.

Levi pummels his ribs once for Farlan, who Nile shot between the eyes. He cracks his jaw for Isobel, who’s heart Nile blew a hole through, even after she dropped her weapon and the stolen money.

Levi falls to his knees and draws his swords, to take take a life that took two more.

A whistle screams through the air. Levi’s back splits in two.

He’s thrown foward, swords embedding in the hard earth. He whips his head over his shoulder and sees the knife protruding from his back.

Hoofbeats circle him. A gun barrel swoops into his vision.

A black horse charges in front of him, blocking his attacker who flies off backwards. Levi looks up at Eren, hands white around his reigns but eyes flaming red. Mikasa jumps off the saddle and storms the rider.

“Are you okay, Levi?” Eren calls.

Levi spins around. The other kids scatter amongst the mayhem, each doning horses stolen from the stable. Bodies lie face first in the dust. Friend or foe?

There’s no time to check. Eren’s already away, scouting the injured. The battle’s dying down, but he can’t tell who’s won. It doesn’t matter; Levi’s battle is lying in the dirt.

He turns back to Nile. The coward is crawling away, leaving behind a dirty blood trail.

Levi scrunches his nose. The shootout that occurred over six months ago plays clear as day. 

They prepared for armed robbery and plunged into the bank - their last job. Levi was ready.

But no one could be ready for the fate of Nile’s crew visiting the bank on the very same day.

It went South immediately. Surrender wasn’t in their blood, but Isabel gave in as soon as Farlan was taken out. Not that it mattered. Nile was too trigger happy.

He saved Levi for last. When Levi managed to escape with all limbs attached, he thought he was lucky. An hour without his friends, he decided God was damn cruel.

Because if Levi admitted blame, he wouldn’t have made it another day.

He walks to his swords and grabs them by the hilt. He tugs. No give.

A scarlet glare flashes through his vision. Another tug. They’re stuck fast. Nile’s crawling fucking quickly for a dead man.

He roots his feet and searches for purchase on the hilts, but they’re slippy with sweat. Levi takes them by the blade instead. Getting these out the ground might cost him his hands. He clenches his fingers and pulls.

His palms split open and red stains silver. Levi jerks away from the blades and storms after Nile. He spots the closest weapon. Nile’s gun.

Levi snatches it off the ground and paces to Nile in three short slides. He slams his boot into his back. Nile’s nose cracks on the dirt and drenches the soil.

He draws the gun and aims.

“Levi!” Smith’s shout shatters the air. He bounds closer. Levi keeps his boot steady. “Don’t kill him.”

“Do you know what he did, Smith?” He tightens his finger. The barrel groans. “D’you know what he fuckin’ did?”

Nile cranes his neck around. He glares up at Levi with one eye. “Playing the victim card, Ackerman? How many of my men did you kill?”

“You shot first,” he spits.

Nile dribbles blood down his purple chin. “You had an entire bank hostage.”

“Shut up.” Levi kicks him in the back of the head. He narrows his eyes on the target.

“Look at yourself,” Smith says, much closer. Nearly touching. _Hurry up. _“You’re holding a gun.” _Shoot him, goddammit. _____

_____ _

_____ _

“I don’t care.” He tempts the trigger. Just one pull.

“That’s the first lie you’ve ever told me.”

Levi drops to the ground, knees balanced on Nile shoulders, and shoves the barrel into his head. His finger wraps around the trigger.

Hands wrench him off Nile, nearly ripping his arms off. Smith coils his arms around Levi’s torso. His arms are trapped. The gun falls to his feet.

Smith drags him across the dirt. Levi digs his feet in, but Smith carries him like a feather. He stretches his purpling arms and fumbles for his knife. His fingers brush the hilt.

The leather handle slips into his palm. He thrusts it into Smith’s leg and wrestles out of his strangling grip.

Levi leaps for Nile. Fingers brush his jacket, but he’s too quick.

He buries his claws into Nile’s jacket and hurls him over. Wrapping his hands around Nile’s dirty neck, he clenches with everything he has left. Though blood clumps Levi’s lashes, Nile’s blue face is perfect.

He’s thrown into the air. Nile’s face is replaced with the clouded sky. Smith’s hands fly into his vision as soon as he hits the ground.

Levi rolls right. Away from Nile’s body; closer to the gun. He grips the hot metal and jumps to his feet.

Smith stands tall, feet apart and palm outstretched. Levi points the gun at his heart, but it won’t line up right. His hands sway in circles.

Smith steps foward. Levi jerks back.

He trips over his swords, letting go of the gun to break his fall. Smith takes the chance to pounce.

He catches Levi by the arms and hooks him under the armpits. Smith spins him around, taking Levi’s momentum and falling to the dirt. His back presses against Smith’s chest. The impact hits distantly.

Levi writhes, but a cage of limbs quickly surrounds him. He’s in Smith’s lap, trapped between his thighs and arms encasing his upper body. Smith leans his head over Levi’s and looks into his face.

A warm palm cups his chin and wipes his cheek. Wipes again.

Again and again until salt coats Levi’s lips, the wetness streaming down his face only now registering in his mind.

When Smith begins to rock, Levi melts. Distant chatter mixes with bird calls. Smith’s breaths flutter past his ear. The sky fades from orange to blue.

His bones merge with the cage as he finally takes a real breath. It breaks in three, so he tries again.

Just when he relearns the concept, Mike drifts into his vision. “All accounted for, Erwin. We’ll need a few trips to the hospital, though.”

“Thank you, Mike.” Mike doesn’t move. He stares down at Levi. “ _Thank you,_ Mike.”

Mike disappears. Smith relaxes, finger by finger, limb by limb. He tucks an arm under Levi’s legs, the other resting behind his neck.

Hange crouches beside Nile’s body, spinning white gauze around his thigh and fussing over his chin.

 _You don’t deserve to die,_ Smith had told him.

He sinks into Smith’s arms as he’s lifted off the ground. He closes his eyes.

The sun sits at dusk when he wakes.

Dusk of which day, he’s not sure, but his limbs are so stiff, he might’ve been out for weeks.

His room-turned-infirmary houses two other patients and a straight faced visitor. Nile and his crew must’ve been taken to a local hospital. Sounds like something Smith would do.

Connie’s snoring in his bed, but Eren’s already upright and picking at the bandage on his forehead.

“Leave it alone, Eren,” Mikasa says from the chair beside his bed. Levi covers his bruised ribs with the fresh shirt folded at the end of his bed. The sleeves hang a foot off the end of his hands.

He guzzles the water left on his dresser and widens his eyes at the swords stacked beside his boots. Slipping his shoes on, he lifts the mattress and tucks the blades away for safekeeping.

Levi rounds the bed and heads for Eren. “So I bet joining the fight was your stupid idea, yeah?”

Eren pinks. “I guess. We saved you, though.”

Levi smacks him across the head on the side opposite his bandage. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Levi spins around. “And you,” he raises his palm at Mikasa. She glares at him. He turns his hand into a pointed finger instead. “I thought you had better control over him, brat.”

“You’re welcome,” she says.

“Tsk.” He walks out the door and into the main hall. Armin is perched in an armchair, book in hand, eyes out the window. He smiles when Levi walks past.

“Erwin’s on the front porch,” he says. Levi pauses for a moment, question on tongue, then continues out the door.

Smith has his arms folded over the railing, hips tilted forward and bare feet crossed. His jeans hang off his waist and his open shirt clings to his shoulders. Tape and gauze smatter his torso.

Levi joins him at the railing and clears his throat. “Evenin’.”

“It’s a nice one, isn’t it?” It is. The sun sets fire to Smith’s hair.

He links his thumbs and inspects the dirt under his nails. “Smith.”

“Yes?”

“Why’re you keeping me around?” He bites the inside of his cheek. “I mean, what d’you really see in me?”

“You’ve got a will that’s practically unparelled.” Smith shifts his gaze away from the sunset. “If you paired it with a goal - other than trying to kill me - you could go so far. All you need is direction. Let me give it to you.”

Levi sighs and turns to watch the dipping sun. “It’d be easier if I left.”

“I know I’ve hurt you.” The blue of his eyes spark in the light. “But you’ve ignited something within me, the urge to keep on hunting.”

Levi shakes his head. “It wasn’t all you, you know. The pain was there before. I ... I think you caught me.” _Before I fell apart. ___

____

____

Smith steps closer. His shadowed face blocks the sunset. Levi tuts.

“Will you join us?” Shadowed may they be, Smith’s eyes are still light as sunrise. “Will you join my crew?”

Levi’s never been a fan of the whole ‘crew’ business. Isabel and Farlan were family.

But then again, the sunsets down here _are_ pretty nice.

“Alright.” Smith smiles. “Only for a little while. ‘Til I get bored, or tired of your bullshit.”

Smith thrusts out a hand. Levi takes it.

“Welcome to the crew.” He squeezes Levi’s knuckles. “You can call me Erwin, you know.”

“I’ll call you whatever I want, Bastard.” He holds on one more second before letting Smith’s hand go.

Smith digs his fingers into his pocket. He presses something smooth and warm into Levi’s palm. A key.

“It’s for the house.” Levi runs his finger over the ridges. “Welcome home, Levi.”

He tucks it into his jacket pocket, fingers following to keep a hold of the metal. “Thank you. Erwin.”

They return to their sun-watching. Erwin keens slightly to one side, knee bending at an odd angle. Levi inches closer and nudges their shoulders together.

“Hey. How’s your leg?”

“Oh,” Erwin’s lips curve. “You barely scratched me.”

“Yeah right-“

A guttural scream splits the sky. Smith shoves off the railing and sprints down the steps. Levi races after him.

Sasha crouches by the stable, red hands in red hair. Blood blossoms up her trousers and soaks the ground beneath her knees.

They’re ten metres away when he sees the body. White hands clutch at a gushing throat. Blonde hair dyes scarlet.

Sasha tears her fingers free and presses them to the rip in Nanaba’s neck.

Erwin drops to the ground before he’s reached them, sliding on his knees in a cloud of dust. He covers Sasha’s hands with his own.

“Levi. Give me something.” He hovers his ear over her mouth. “Levi! Your clothes. Give me anything. Now.”

Levi shakes his head, life finally returning to his limbs, and he strips off his shirt. He kneels in the blood and stuffs the cotton over Nanaba’s neck.

“Sasha, get Hange,” Erwin says. She waits until he’s got a good grip, then jerks to her feet and sprints away.

“Nanaba.” Her eyes flutter open. “Can you tell me what happened, Nanaba?”

Her eyes flick wildly between them. When she opens her mouth, it’s not words than come out, but a cup full of blood. Warm drops spatter Levi’s face.

She tries again. “The bandits ... in Sante Fe.” Her voice rasps like someone’s grated her throat. Perhaps they have. “Do you remember, Erwin. The fight ... last Spring.”

Erwin nods, hair flying. “We captured their leader. The fight was messy.”

Blood dribbles down Nanaba’s chin. Levi clenches his fingers to resist wiping it away.

“Mike took on the leader’s brother.” Erwin continues, squeezing his eyes shut. Searching. “He didn’t have time to aim for his hand. Mike shot him the head.”

A gurgle startles from Nanaba’s throat. She shifts her head to the side and creates a new puddle. “It was him, Erwin. The leader. He must’ve ... escaped prison.”

Footsteps come rushing from behind the building. Levi turns his gaze to Erwin and pries open his mouth.

“Erwin, he’s come for revenge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: the hunt for the prisoner begins.


End file.
